


Just a Little Unstable

by SpaceAceAmeko



Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: ??? - Freeform, I don't even know how to begin tagging, I mean, Jack is off his rockers, Jack's mom's name is Alicia in this b/c I don't know how to come up with names, but does he, everyone keep saying he need help, sometimes all you want is for your mental illness to take a hike, there is some gore. eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-01-04 00:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12157998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceAceAmeko/pseuds/SpaceAceAmeko
Summary: Jack had almost dismembered everything that was from the heylin/xiaolin conflict. He didn't want to leave any memories. With no more Jack-bots, wu, or any invention that had ever been used for the wu scrapped or hidden, he thought he could lead a normal life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Heyyy everybody!! It's Ace here, but like. This was actually first started back in 2013 on my fanfiction.net account lmao. I finally decided to pick up the slack after getting re-interested in Xiaolin Showdown. Aaaannnd. I don't know where this thing is going, but hopefully I don't like, drop off the face of the earth for another five years in between each chapter._
> 
>  
> 
> _Enjoy! <33_

_ Just a little unstable _

* * *

 

Jack sat in a chair in his work study, fingers idly tapping on the armrest as his eyes glance around his mechanisms. He bites his lip and grips the arm rest's edge.

 

It had been a while since he went out to any xiaolin/heylin wu gatherings. In fact, a few weeks ago he had disabled his wu detector. It lay in pieces in a drawer near him.

 

Jack resisted the urge to fix it and get back into the game.

 

It wasn't real.

 

Jack took in a breath and with much effort needed, left his basement that was in shambles. He trudged up the stairs, hesitating every step and then to just stay there for a moment longer. He reached the door and exited the room, closing the heavy metal door behind him.

 

He had given away whatever other wu he had. The others were confused, and even thought it was a trick on his childish behalf to show them up.

 

"It's not real, Jack..."

 

He started walking away from his lab, feet skidding across the marble finish of his floor.

 

"Just like the doctor said... It's not real. Just like Megan said, it's not real..." He repeated softly to himself, his hand idly sliding across the wall he walked next to.

 

Jack kept his half-lidded eyes down on the floor, memory after memory played through his thoughts.

After a moment of walking he stopped and leaned on the wall for support in the empty, cold, and lifeless hallway. He brought his left arm up to see the hand-made wristwatch on his wrist and sighed.

5:43 read the watch.

 

Jack slid down the wall, hugging his knees to his chest once he was sitting. "I should go..." He told himself as he slowly slid back up the wall and headed to his room.

 

Once there he made a quick change of his clothes to proper, almost normal, attire. Black skinnies, band tee, jacket, spiked collar and gothic makeup, and combat boots for his finished gothic look. He had packed up his old torn-up trench coat almost right after dismembering his wu detector. It lay in a box in his closet, along with his old yellow swirly goggles and heli-pack.

 

Jack had almost dismembered everything that was from the heylin/xiaolin conflict. He didn't want to leave any memories. With no more Jack-bots, wu, or any invention that had ever been used for the wu scrapped or hidden, he thought he could lead a normal life.

 

Or as normal as his life would get after leaving everything behind.

 

"It isn't real..." Jack repeated his mantra as he walked out of his house and got into a taxi he called prior to leaving his lab. "Morton Thyson Psychiatry, please." He told the driver softly, buckling in before the driver took off.

 


	2. Chapter 2

"Jack," Dr. Thyson calls for the fourth time in a few minutes.

 

Jack sits in an overly plush armchair, hands rubbing up and down the ends of the armrests and feeling the texture: smooth, just a bit squeaky.

 

He knows he can't keep like this, _ignoring_ his psychiatrist when he has only an hour and a half. And he knows, probably, that maybe Dr. Thyson didn't care if he talked the entire hour and a half because he still gets paid. Everything is paid for my his parents money, anyway.

 

Jack glances up to meet the doctor's eye before looking away.

 

"How are you feeling today?" Dr. Thyson repeats himself. Jack stays silent for another moment. He sighs.

 

"I'm... Okay, I guess." He says and stops rubbing on the armrests, instead he moved to tuck his legs on the chair and hug them to his chest. He fiddles with his hands for a lack of anything better to do.

 

"Just okay?" Dr. Thyson asks, glancing at his notes and marking something on the sheet. The noise makes that common _ksshh kshh kssshhh_ noise ballpoint pens do when they write on paper over a clipboard.

 

Jack struggles with getting word out, any words. He can babble inside his head for days, and if he had been left to his... Delusion, then he could have babbled for days in real time.

 

But _now._

 

"I- Megan says I'm sick.. _You_ say I'm sick. That it's all a hallucination." Jack takes a breath, slouching in the chair. "I.. How can it be fake? I've been in the conflict for _y_ _ears."_ Jack's eyes can't focus on one thing. He's never been good at being still. Fiddle, fiddle, fiddle.

 

Dr Thyson nods in understanding.

 

 _How can he understand?_ Jack's subconscious pipes up, indignant. His twitching increases as he settles in the chair, trying to get comfortable as he picks at his cuticle, ripping off pieces of dried skin.

 

"When did you first meet them, Jack?" He always used Jack's name repeatedly, even after they first met. Jack thinks it's some psychological bullshit about being more receptive to hearing your name being called, and then trusting them more when they say it often enough. But Jack can hear the underlying _when did you start hallucinating another life_ in his sentence.

 

Jack has to think, had to take year after year back. Currently, he was nineteen and a half. Last year Wuya betrayed him for the umpteenth time. Two years before that Chase actually _smirked_ at something he did at the showdown. It was brilliant, if he said so himself.

 

Three, four, five…

 

Five years ago his father sent him an ancient artifact that held Wuya's disembodied spirit.

 

"F-fourteen." He stuttered. _How can any of that have been a hallucination?_ He thought. He'd come home with _bruises_ , cuts, scrapes. Hell, one time he had broken bones.

 

"Was there anything in your life happened outside of that?" _What kind of fucked up things happened in your family life to trigger this episode?_

 

Jack didn't like staying still. He doesn't know why he agreed to this session being this long. Glancing at the clock he notices they were thirty minutes in. Not even past the halfway mark. _Fuck_.

 

"Jack," Dr. Thyson prompts when he's spent another five minutes in silence staring a hole in the clock.

He's here because of _Megan_. She begged him to get help. Apparently, when she was younger, she had played along only for the amusement because he was delusional. As they grew up, she said, she realized it "was serious".

 

"Uhm," Jack stalled. He really didn't feel like having a pity party with the shrink when he could be going wu hunting- he couldn't. He had took the detector apart. "Well.." Jack shrugs. "Maybe. Who knows?" He looks around the room, wanting to get up and be nosy. He wants to look through all those pretty, pristine volumes of DMS and physiology books. He gets up, traipsing to the bookshelf to finger at the book's spine, feeling the immaculate hard plastic cover. Dr. Thyson watches him with a godly amount of patience as he takes a book, flipping through pages. It calms him, this repetitive motion and the sound the pages makes. It sounded better than listening to the noise of the pen on paper writing down how fucked up he apparently was. "Mom and dad were going through a divorce or something. I don't know, something about my mom being angry about dad never being home." He specifically leaves out the part where Alicia Spicer drank herself to sleep every night.

 

Jack's father's negligence of his family didn't lead her to drinking, she just liked to nurse the bottle every minute she could. But he could almost account for her alcoholism to be the reason his dad stayed away on expeditions.

 

Jack puts the book back and takes a new one. Repeat the motions, change to the next volume.

 

"And," Dr. Thyson starts. "You are sure you had left everything from that life, just as we had talked about earlier?"

 

Jack nods absently, moving to the right to fiddle the the frames. At least he thought he did. His detector, his trench coat and goggles. His beloved helipack, even his Jackbots. Although, he could always revamp those and give them a different name. _Those_ won't be part of the conflict.

 

Jack hears the noise of writing. It was light, quick, and probably illegible handwriting.

 

Dr. Thyson lets him fiddle his was around the room, tweaking this and that, that was slanted, and fixed books on the shelf, for a near twenty minutes. Jack glances at the clock, trying to be subtle as he sees he was down to fifteen minutes.

 

"Jack, I'd like to talk to you about treatments." Jack internally curses, but begrudgingly takes his seat. "Looking through your history and after getting to know you, I think there may be more than just your hallucinations causing you to be unwell.."

 

Jack furrows his brow because, the fuck, that didn't sound good.

 

"It looks like you may have adult ADHD, Jack." _Can't You just stop using my name? God, it's like a broken time record._

 

"Wait, what?"

 

"Attention deficit hyperactive disorder."

 

"Yeah I know what that is I'm not an idiot." Jack defends himself, hackles raised a bit. "Why do you think I have it?"

 

Dr. Thyson takes on a neutral expression. "Well, for instance, it's how you act. You jump from one activity to another, you can't sit still.." He names a few. "This is all actually very manageable. Tell me, were you planning on staying at your home during treatment?"

 

 _I want to know if you have access to your old life that might screw up progress_. Jack reads.

 

"Well, yeah. Where the fuck else am I gonna stay?" Jack furrowed his brow, uncaring of his cursing. Dr. Thyson just nods.

 

"I'm going to write you a few prescriptions. Fill these at the pharmacy and just follow instructions." He says, writing down his final conclusions. He goes to the thin laptop on his desk and prints put some papers.

 

Jack takes them skeptically, looking through the pages.

 

_Risperdal. Adderall. Zoloft._

 

Jack pauses.

 

_Zoloft._

 

"But I'm not depressed." Jack says, confused but also feeling confrontational.

 

"I understand, Jack. Zoloft is actually going to help you with the 'negative' side effects, while Risperdal helps with the 'positive.' They have many studies that have shown great result for them working together."

 

Jack eyes him wearily. Maybe, he thinks, glancing at the clock. Finally, Dr. Thyson does too. It was the first time he had glanced to it, right as his time was up. He smiles kindly, signing the prescriptions and telling Jack, "be sure to make your follow-up with Clara at the front desk. These are thirty day supplies, but come back in three weeks. I want to see how you feel on them."

 

Jack folds the papers and trudged out, breathing a sigh of relief. It wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be. But then again, he had spent half the time rearranging everything in the room.

 

He makes the appointment with Clara, trying to avoid even looking at her. She was a foreigner, probably studying abroad here in Shanghai. Her hair a fiery red and her eyes just the off color of green for her to look like a certain witch. They were pretty though, hazel blue-green eyes.

 

"Thanks," he mutters quickly and books it out of the office. He heaves a sigh when he steps out into the busy street, clutching to the folded papers.

 


	3. Chapter 3

If there was anything that was uncomfortable, it was this. His foot taps on the carpeted pharmacy floor while the technician  _ clack, clack, clacks _ on her keyboard to type his prescriptions.

 

He tries not to let her occasional glances at him bother him. It was a  _ judging _ look. Jack’s had enough of those to last a lifetime. He knows what she’s thinking.

 

_ Depressed, retarded, _ and _ psycho. _

 

Jack had nearly kept the  _ Zoloft _ prescription with him so he would only get half the judgmental looks. But then he thought, what is Dr. Thyson checks to make sure he filled them? What if he knows Jack never took them?

 

The paranoid thought of being checked on kept him biting his tongue.

 

“These will be ready in an hour. You are free to go.” Jack jerks his head in a quick nod before turning tail and books it out of the pharmacy, breathing a sigh of relief when he’s not under the flourescent light.

 

He had an hour to kill and nothing to do.

 

But, he needs to do  _ something. _

 

Jack ends up stalking down the street, eyes darting around to every little thing that moved.

 

If he just kept walking, would the monks show up? Would Wuya pop out of from the shadows to taunt him about leaving the conflict? Jack walks a bit faster, nails digging into his palms.

 

_ Hurry up. _ He curses the clock.

 

Jack walks a squiggle on the streets, into the nearby park, around to the pharmacy, and back down the street four times before his phone pinged that his meds were ready. Not a moment too soon, he thinks, nails raw with him biting at the skin around them with worry at  _ anyone _ from the showdown showing up.

 

* * *

 

The orange pill bottle sit suspiciously on his bedside table. Three small bottles lined up in a row, right under the lamp like they were under interrogation. 

 

Jack has been stalling, obviously.

 

He’d taken hours to read about each medication when he came home with them. Every side effect. His skepticism wasn’t alleviated when no studies had been done on someone like him. Jack went to bed after lining them up in their current position and slept fitfully until sunrise the next morning.

 

_ I just want you to get better, Jack. _ Megan's voice rings in his ear and he feels guilty. With a breath, he pops open the tops and takes a pill of each. He doesn’t trust himself to take them if he hesitates so he pops them all in his mouth and downs them with a soda, making a face at the taste of the pills, and waits.

* * *

  
  


Jack has never felt like this in his  _ life. _ He feels normal, except for the hyperfocus. He needs to  _ move _ but he is still, or, more still than he usually is. He’s calm, colors are brighter, white noise sharper, louder.

 

The dust in the air bothers him. The clothes thrown around the room bothers him. The  _ microscopic dirt on the bed _ bothers him and needs to see a washer  _ pronto _ .

 

So, for the first time after he took the pills, he moves from his bed and gathers the dirty clothes into the hamper. He opens the blinds a little to let in a little light that won’t hurt his eyes.   
  
And he  _ moves. _

 

Jack is having heart palpitations and shaky fingers but he’s never felt better. Never felt this focus,  _ regular focus, _ except for when he hyper-focused on building his bots.

 

Two hours later his room and adjoining bathroom was meticulously clean and he felt a peace with himself after he took a bath and scrubbed his skin raw, the water red with the color of his hair dye.

 

Place clean, sheets and clothes laundered, body washed, he felt  _ better. _

 

Jack would never admit it out loud, but maybe,  _ maybe, _ Dr Thyson and Megan were right.

 

Maybe these meds can help.

* * *

  
  


The two months that had gone by had been good to Jack. He tooks his meds:  _ Adderall 20mg, twice a day. Risperdal 2mg, once a day,  _ and  _ Zoloft, 25 mg one half tab, once a day,  _ saw his doctor once a month for refills, and lived his life.

 

After cleaning his house spotless and running out of things to do, he called Megan for advice. With her help he applied to the nearest community college for engineering.

 

It took up space in his mind and soon enough he rarely thought of the conflict or his young die-heart crush. And after he started a class to make things, he gathered the courage to pass the threshold of his basement and turned the whole place upside down. He exchanged all his robot parts to new parts, opened the blinds so he could have actual light. Trashed the table, for a new table, threw out boxes, downsized his computer, got a newer, better one and set up shop to tinker on new things.

 

Jack had finally started to accept that Dr. Thyson and Megan had been right, after not getting any kind of visit from his old friends and enemies, or seeing anything on the news of anything out of the ordinary.

* * *

 

Six months later Jack had gone to an antique shop. Although he wasn’t as obsessed as his father, he enjoyed them just as well.

 

The shop was quaint, but rather cluttered, cramped to the brim with artifacts. The owner was somewhere in the back, leaving Jack to sift through figurines and vases. Carefully, he picks up a clay hummingbird, admiring the brightly painted colors as it sat in the palm of his hand. There were small ships of paint missing: on its wing, and its tail, right next to its beak.

 

Jack didn’t look up when the store bell ran notifying of another customer. There was just  _ something _ about this antique that he felt drawn to. There was a gasp he heard by the dor and Jack finally takes his eyes off the hummingbird to the strangers.

 

Jack froze.

 

_ “...Jack Spicer?” _


	4. Chapter 4

_ “...Jack Spicer?” _

 

Jack couldn’t move. He nearly dropped the figurine in shock, but luckily his shaky hands kept it in his palms.

 

“Jack Spicah!” Omi declares, unaware of the building panic in their old rival. “De-hand that  _ shen gon wu!” _

 

“Ughh! Omi, it’s been  _ years, _ it’s  _ unhand.” _ Raimundo smacks his palm on his forehead. Jack would have laughed at his frustration if he wasn’t currently having a crisis. 

 

Jack goes through his morning routine.. He woke up, had breakfast, took his meds. He  _ swore _ he took his meds. He even had a foolproof system! Everytime he took a dose, the little orange bottle will be turned upside down, and Jack  _ specifically _ remembers being happy all his bottles ended up on their caps yet again this week. 

 

Every day, every week, every fucking  _ month, _ Jack had taken his medications as directed.

 

And yet, here he was, staring at the Xiaolin Monks in all their mix-matched fashion glory.

 

Clay looks the same. Older, as Jack was older since he first joined---  _ hallucinated _ the conflict. He towers a foot above Jack, broad shouldered, tipping his hat as he straightens his back in his tight blue plaid button up. 

 

Raimundo still wears his old white sweater, showing signs of wear and tear and all the love of being an overused sweater it came with. He slouches, looking bored, and more than a little ready to knock some street sense into Omi’s head. And Omi, he was still the small, half Jack’s size cue-ball dressed in his monk robes, ready to charge.

 

Kimiko, Jack notices last, looks just a tad taller, but not really older.  _ Asian genes, go figure. _ His mind helpfully supplies him as they lock eyes, both seeming to think the same.

 

_ They’ve changed. _

 

Jack knows he looks different.  _ More normal. _ He still dressed in near all-black, tight jeans and clunky boots, and a knitted sweater with the  _ NASA _ logo. He has long since stopped dyeing his hair red, and he bets it looks foreign and alien to the monks to see him with a head of white hair and face bare of makeup.

 

He can’t move.  _ He can’t. _

 

The meds were taken, and yet _this happens._ _It has to be real,_ he thought desperately, _there’s no other explanation for seeing the monks._

 

But even if that was so, he mentally tries to smack himself out of his stupor before Omi lurches forward and touches the hummingbird.    
  
“Jack Spicah! I challenge you to a Xiaolin Showdown!” Jack feels his lips move, hears sound come out though he doesn’t hear what he says. Most likely, he realizes as Omi’s lips move and the world starts to shift, that he accepted. 

 

Jack could blame it on muscle memory, could blame it on someone else controlling his body. He could blame it on his illness.

 

_ But how the fuck is he hallucinating a killer mind maze for the hummingbird sitting inside a small cage at the middle of the showdown when he was on anti-psychotics? _

 

_ “Gon yi tan pai!”  _ Jack voices back, and he doesn’t even stop to this that he doesn’t even have wu he could have offered up if he lost. He was wu-less, and jackbot-less, and any kind of help-less.

 

The ground moving the two puzzle blocks underneath him and he yelps, jumping forward onto other uneven floating pieces, trying not to get squashed by the mystical forces of the showdown. He doesn’t focus on Omi, barely even focuses on how close he gets to the hummingbird as he tries to keep himself alive. 

 

Jack has two more slots to make it through to the birdcage, ensuring his victory and that he lives when he hears a voice yell,  _ “Fist of Tebigong!”  _ and suddenly pain blossoms in his side and he is thrown into a floating jigsaw puzzle, head colliding painfully with a resounding  _ crack! _ against the harder than metal piece ready to crush him.

* * *

  
  


When Jack comes to, it has got to be hours later. His head hurts something fierce, like a night spent drinking too much. It hurt to breathe, like something was crushing his side. And he couldn’t for the life of him figure out where  _ the fuck he was. _ His eyelids were heavy, but he forces them open and hisses at the blood of light, groaning his uncomfort.

 

“Jack!” Exclaims a girlish voice, filled with concern and relief all at once. He knows that voice.

 

“Megan…?” He slurs,  swallowing the saliva in his mouth uncomfortably. “Where-- what happened? Where.. Am I?”

 

“Jack..” Her voice turns disappointed. “The shopkeeper at the inn called the police. He said you went crazy! Pretended to fight people and kept throwing this around the shop, breaking all the priceless antiques!”

 

Jack’s eyes flew open and he sat up, body protesting and eyes stinging with the light-- _ too much light--  _ and stares wide-eyed at Megan, dolled up like her usual self. 

 

_ “No!” _ Jack nearly yells. “I did not do anything like that!  _ They _ were there, Megan! I fucking  _ saw them!” _ Megan only pulls her pretty lips into a frown. 

 

“Who did you see, Jack?”   
  
“The fucking monks! Who else?!” He screeches, running his eyes as they throbbed behind his lids. 

 

“They aren’t real, Jack… Have you been taking your medicine?” She asks suspiciously and when Jack opens his eyes to look at her she squints her own. He stares, baffled, and then gets angry.

 

_ “Of course I fucking take them! _ ” He screeches this time. “Don’t fucking look at me like that Megan! I take them every fucking god damn day!” He growls. “That antique shop owner is a fucking  _ liar.” _

 

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I go to your home and search any place you might’ve hidden them, hmm?” She asks and if she had her umbrella he swears she would be twirling it. He hisses, glaring holes in her eyes. 

 

“Go fucking knock yourself out.”

* * *

  
  


Jack stays in the hospital as Megan leaves to scope out his home. The doctor comes in, tells him he has a concussion and bruising on his ribs.

 

_ Yeah no shit, Sherlock.  _ He thinks bitterly, brows furrowed as he takes the meds from the little cup and downs them all in one go with a glass of water. They scrape the inside of his throat, and he twitches and gulps, holding his thumb in his first to keep himself from gagging.  _ Yuck… _ He makes a face as he feels them travel down his esophagus and settle in his gut. At least, after a few minutes of terse silence of listening to the stagnant beeping of his monitor, he pain medications started to kick in and he relaxed, going loosey-goosey against the fluffed pillows. 

 

Megan comes back only after the pain meds started to wear off, where he could still be lucid but the pain was still kept at bay. She wore a frown, lips pursed with a disappointed look on her face.

 

Megan sets a bottle,  _ a water bottle, _ full of pills on his bedside table. Jack furrows his brows, staring with a raised brow. 

 

“Did you really just put all my meds in a fucking plastic bottle?” They had a bunch in there, more than two weeks worth of medications. He could see the brown pills of  _ Zoloft _ and the small blue circular pills of his  _ Risperdal. _ Megan looked more resigned at this point.

 

“No. I found this in your drawer.” She eyes the bottle, as Jack does. Jack’s eyes widen, looking between her and the bottle, then back to her, and to the bottle, an endless amount of times.    
  
_ “No.” _ Jack says, a little bit of hysteria coloring his voice. “ _ No. I took my pills. _ I took them! Everyday!” Megan doesn’t look like she believes him. 

 

“The doctor said you're blood test came back with less than the prescribed dose of your medications.” She says, somehow haughty and worried all at once. “How do you explain that, Jack?”

 

“I…” Jack starts, voice trailing off as he stares at the half-full bottle of pills. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Jack hates this. This near constant surveillance he’s been put under. He’s not a child, and even though he was acting like one now, he didn’t deserve this damn treatment.

  
  
Megan comes by everyday, morning and night, to make sure he took his pills.

  
  
He’d bared the indignancy of it for the past couple weeks until he got fed up.

  
  
His once Jack-bot repurposed to video tape and make sure he took each dosage right.

  
  
_A higher dosage._

  
  
But at least if it wasn’t Megan coming around to harp at him then this surveillance seemed less intrusive.

  
  
Jack named him Chester.

  
  
Chester went online every 9am and 7pm, took out the correct amount of pills, and recorded both video and in notes, that Jack took the pills.

  
  
And then every week Jack made a show to Megan that he did, in fact, not need her crowding him like an invalid by sending her the videos and notes.

  
  
He was _crazy,_ apparently, not someone who was bed ridden.

  
  
This seemed to get Megan off his back easy enough. His next concern was what the fuck _that_ had been at the antique shop.

  
  
He knows he isn’t crazy. At least he thinks. But then begs the question what of that bottle of pills. He’s nearly one hundred percent certain he didn’t have any lapse of time he doesn’t remember about. He certainly doesn’t remember amassing a month's worth of prescription pills he hadn’t taken.

  
  
So, there can only be a few explanations.

  
  
1\. Megan and Dr. Thyson were right; he’d experienced “missing time” in which his so called other self decided against taking the medications, which lead to the incident at the shop. In the case that it was the lack of medication that caused the break, how did he wind up in the hospital, and what _really_ happened in the shop?

 

2\. Jack wasn’t as crazy as he thought. Maybe he had taken his meds and the monks showing up proved they were real. The bottle of pills? Could have been planted. By who, he doesn’t know. It’s not like he has many enemies anymore.

 

3.Maybe it's _this_ life that is the hallucination and the prior life was the real one. 

 

Jack scrapped all theories out the window. To many variables.

  
  
From his own recollection, Jack had been in a showdown, before something hit his head thus making him wind up in a hospital. Apparently to everyone else he caused a scene.

  
  
_The owner said you went crazy!_ Megan said. _Started throwing and breaking things._

  
  
Except he has no reason to do that. At all. And he may not be as obsessed with antiques as his father, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have any respect for them.

  
  
Unfortunately the owner didn’t have any video cameras. Neither did the other stores around the area, even on the streets, so there goes his way of proving his innocence.

  
  
Jack sighs, hitting his head on the table he sat at, unfinished dinner of cup ramen within reach but drastically cooling. “Stupid Megan.. stupid pills, lame doctors..” Jack grumbled sullenly, unsure of _anything_ anymore. Who he should believe.

  
  
_What_ he should believe.

  
  
Jack heaves a sigh as he lifts his head off the mahogany dining table, realizing this wasn’t getting him anywhere. He stands and leaves the food on the table, sure the maid who comes in twice a week will eventually clean it up, and heads down to the basement.

  
  
He liked his newfound lair a lot better. Never mind all the restricting surveillance and pills shoved down his throat, but the remodel was _definitely_ needed.

  
  
Light came in from the small windows, the electric lighting turned on slow and was filled so as to not hurt his eyes further. He had a row of bookshelves, cabinets, and drawers lining one side of the room that housed textbooks, metals, nails, screws, and wrenches, and whatever else he managed to salvage for his engineering.

  
  
It was _good._

  
  
It was _safe._

  
  
At least it should have been safe.

  
  
Jack didn’t know when the migraine started but it came suddenly, a sharp stab from behind his eyes and he whines.

  
  
“That’s just fucking _great.”_ He mutters, shutting his eyes from the light although it wasn’t even that bright. He groans as the stabbing pain pulsed and he huffs. “God everything just happens to me, doesn’t it?” Jack was too busy lamenting his life of pain to notice the figure standing ten feet away.

  
  
“Spicer.” Chase’s voice rang out in the otherwise still room and Jack jumps, eyes flying open despite the prickling of pain at the light.

  
  
Jack froze, his heart starting to hammer against his chest like a bunny in a chase.

  
  
_This can’t be real. This isn’t real._ He told himself.

  
“You aren’t real.” Jack nearly mumbles, practically slurs it, lacking any and all confidence in his conviction of his statement in the face of Chase’s all powerful glower.

  
  
“Of course I’m real, you sniveling worm.” Chase snarls, lip twitching up to reveal the sharp teeth glinting menacingly. Jack’s body was trembling now, and he stepped back, eyes wide and drying as he tried to keep his eyes on the warlord— _hallucination_ in front of him.

  
  
“You aren’t real.” Jack repeats, louder, more solid, as if trying to get him to believe himself. “You aren’t real.” Jack has backed himself up against the show of bookshelves, the shelves digging into his back. “You aren’t real..” He mutters, hiccuping to catch his breath as panic cools his body and adrenaline pumps through his veins. He repeats this over and over, growing in near hysterics while the pressure and pain behind his eyes kept growing, weighing down the longer his eyes were opened against the bright lights of his basement.

  
  
Jack shuts his eyes, his own voice deaf to his own ears.

  
  
Jack’s eyes flew open at the tight grip on his upper arms. He was pretty sure he screamed when Chase came face-to-face with him, but he couldn’t hear anything over the roar of blood in his ears. All he knew was his mouth was dropped, his throat hurt, and he couldn’t stop staring at the kaleidoscope of gold colors in Chase’s eyes.

  
  
The pressure on his arms was building and he was sure Chase would rip him apart. The warlord’s mouth was moving, yelling, yet Jack couldn’t hear. Snarling, speaking, Jack could barely make out the shape of Chase’s lips forming his name.

  
  
_“Spicer!”_

  
  
Soundless, slow motion like the last showdown, like his life was coming to an end.

  
  
The stabbing pain behind his eyes never let up, never dwindled, blossoming into a plethora of needles that spread to the farthest edges of his brain.

  
  
His chest felt crushed, and he could blame it on Chase’s claws and how his throat closed up in fear. But it felt off, and he wonders, as black pixels disintegrate his vision, if this means his “other persona” was taking over.

 

* * *

 

This time, when Jack came to, he was surprised to find himself on his bed. There was still a prickle of pain at the back of his skull like he had been hit hard, and he doesn’t have enough function to think of what happened.

 

Jack groans as he sits up on his forearms, trying to blink open his eyes that seemed like they’d been glued shut. He rubs, taking deep settling breaths. Once he was able to open his eyes he looks around, furrowing his brows when his room comes into view. It looked unsettled, except for the pile of clothes on the floor.

 

He’d meant to do his laundry, that’s right. Jack huffs, rubbing his eyes.

 

“Christ, I feel like I’ve been run over by a bulldozer..” He mutters, arms sore beyond belief. That was when he paused.

 

 _”Listen to me you sniveling coward!” Chase snarls, inches from opening his growing jaw of a dragon to bite his head off. “Listen to me! Spicer!_ Spicer!”

 

Jack gasps, looking around frantically. No one in the room. He gulps as his pulse picks up, shoving a lump in his throat as he looks down at his covered arms. Trying to keep his cool, he scrambled off the bed. Uncooly, his feet got tangled in the bed and he face plants into the floor but he didn’t care as he kicks them off while trying to quell his growing apprehension. He runs to the bathroom, tripping over his own feet twice as he throws the door open and pulls off his shirt, staring at the picture the mirror provided.

 

Jack stares with wide eyes, focused on the bruising on his upper arms. His breath came in small puffs, hands shaking as he lifts them criss-crossed across his chest to gently lay his hands over the bruising. His fingers twitch as he touches the tender skin, but he stares and stares and his breath becomes shallow because _the bruises are bigger than his hands._

 

_They’re bigger than his hands._

 

He gulps down saliva, trying to wet his parched throat. He looks down as he lets his hands drop, seeing the pinpricks of cuts made by the supposed claws of a hallucinated dragon.

 

Jack doesn’t know how long he stood there, huffing breath like an asthmatic, before the sharp jarring pain was back behind his eyes. He whimpers, leaning back against the wall and sliding into a sitting position, hands clutching his head while the pain spreads faster than before. Curling into himself, he tries to dissuade it enough to stand and get the Advil from his medicine cabinet, but the pain has rendered him immovable.

 

He could feel his consciousness crumbling, slipping away like sand as the pain got worse.

 

And it suddenly stopped.

 

The pain left his body, pressure lifted from his chest. He breathes a sigh of relief when he noticed the only pain he felt was the soreness in his arms and the fantom tingling of the sharpness in his head.

 

Jack takes a breath again, letting it out as he opens his eyes and looks at the counter. He sucks in a strangled breath, hiccuping when it went against his breath out.

 

The hummingbird stood ominously on the edge of the counter, judging with its glinting ruby eyes. Jack scrambles up the wall to stand and trips over his own feet as he flees backwards, falling and rolling and _running_ away from the suspicious artifact standing on his bathroom counter.

 

 _This can’t be happening,_ he thinks, not giving himself a chance to glance back or even go get the first aid for his arms as he storms his way into his lab. He practically collapses into the rolly chair and smacks the keys to pull up the video surveillance.

 

And he watches. Again and again, finger tapping on the table in impatience. _No, no, no, no.._ He thinks, biting at his lip and biting the chapped parts, ripping them off his lips to distract himself from the fact that there, on the videos, were Chase.

 

Yet. None of his sensors picked up any intruders. Of course, if Chase was made of magic then the sensors wouldn’t have picked him up anyway.

 

But if Chase was his hallucination, then the _videos_ wouldn’t have picked him up.

 

And Jack didn’t know what to do with this information. He didn’t. He slumps back in his chair, it rolled back with the force of his slump. He stares at the screen, video paused at where Chase stood leaning against the counter in his bathroom, staring at Jack with pursed lips and his typical scowl, hummingbird wu in hand.

 

Trembling fingers lift to touch his tender arms, taking in a shuddering breath.

 

“Okay, okay… Okay. You’re okay..” He takes a few other controlled breaths. “Okay..” He tells himself methodically. As if, if he repeats it to himself then it will become true.

 

But he just didn’t know what _this meant._

 

Jack just.. didn’t know what to do.

 

* * *

 

In the end, Jack took some Advil, put some neosporin on his cuts, band-aids over them, and went to bed.

 

He knew it wouldn’t fix anything. Nothing really. At all. But, his brain couldn’t process what had happened to him. And telling Megan was _so_ out of the question he would rather rip off his own nails than deal with her shit.

 

Jack went to bed at eight at night, and slept through the entire morning until Chester beeped and beeped to wake him up for his morning dosage. Jack paused as he took the pills in his hands, staring and his thoughts froze.

 

With a breath, he takes the water and downs the pills while Chester films, then goes back to his station to turn off until the evening dose. Jack bites his lip.

 

He couldn’t… Could he?

 

Jack gets up, going through his morning routine and thanks god it was a Saturday. Now.. He had some homework to do.

 

* * *

 

Jack is lucky he is so smart. Sure, sometimes he didn’t show it, but he knows he’s a genius.

 

And now, he _knows_ he’s not crazy… At least not in the way those stupid pills will help him with.

 

Jack takes a breath as he moves the colored sugar dust into a small pill molding tray he engineered. He already had batches of Zoloft placebos, and was just finishing up with his Risperdal placebos.

 

He may not know if this is the right thing to do.. But at least he knows he can’t keep taking the real pills. They weren’t working. Telling Megan or Dr. Thyson was also out of the question. They’d make up some bullshit about how he made everything up, even how Chase showed up on the videos.

 

With the batch finished he counted out the appropriate amount of pills left in Chester for the rest of the month and snuck his way back upstairs to Chester’s station. He turns the robot off before opening the hatch and exchanging the two medications for his self-made placebos, waiting until after he had flushed the real pills down the toilet before turning Chester back on.

 

“Sorry Chester, had to do some maintenance on you. Saw something.” He lies easily, giving a smile.

 

He was gonna be _fine._

 

* * *

 

Jack had a plan. Or, he was winging it but who cares? He had half a plan and that’s better than no plan.

 

So when Jack had his monthly therapy session he kept everything light, like Dr. Thyson wanted. He smiled a bit more, kept his fiddling to a minimum, and even showed the doctor the videos Chester took of him take the medications (now placebos, but Dr. Thyson doesn’t know the difference).

 

Jack talks about how he feels great. His studies are going good.

 

He doesn’t mention Chase. He doesn’t mention the videos catching his hallucination in the magic-flesh. Doesn’t mention the migraines he would have coming and going in alarming frequency.

 

Dr. Thyson fell for it like a fool. Jack was a good actor, if he said so himself. He took the prescriptions to the pharmacy, got them filled, went home, traded the pills with placebos, flushed the real ones down the toilet, and then went to refill Chester up.

 

See? Nothing to worry about…

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

_ “Well, your medications seem to be working fine, Jack.” Dr. Thyson smiles as he jots notes on his clipboard.  _

 

_ “Yes, it seems they are.” Jack agrees easily, leaning back in his chair the epitome of nonchalance like he wasn’t lying through his teeth about taking them.  _

 

_ “And you’re making excellent progress.” Dr. Thyson smiles brighter. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve seen a better example at how quick a patient got better.” He says it like praise and Jack keeps himself back from twitching his eye. Jack just smiles along, letting the therapist control the conversation.  _

 

_ “How do you feel about coming back every other month for these sessions, instead?” Jack nearly choked on his spit, luckily not making a scene and only jolts in surprise.  _

 

_ “Really? We can downgrade the seshes?” He asks, hopeful for reasons inapplicable to the actual therapy sessions. Dr. Thyson nods, writing down one more note before scribbling out his prescriptions for the next two months.  _

 

_ “Yes. I really think whatever you’re doing is working, and along with the medications your hallucinations have been under control. So, I’ll see you in two months.” Dr. Thyson smiles, standing to give Jack his scripts. _

 

_ Jack stands and takes the papers, smiling proudly. _

 

_ What a sucker. _

 

* * *

 

 

“Sound system...check. Video camera… Check. Motion sensor…” Jack waves his hand, seeing the little red light indicating movement. “Check.”

 

Jack sighs and leans back in his rolly chair, scooting back to be able to spin around comfortably as he takes a break from making sure all of his surveillance work. If anything out of the ordinary happens, they should catch it. Two months without his antipsychotic and antidepressants, and besides the typical physical tiredness he had always experienced, remedied only by the Adderall, he felt nothing different since he’s stopped them. 

 

Honestly, it had lifted a sort of fog from his mind that had been there as a result of the sedatives. So, in retrospect, he’s just better without them anyway. 

 

….Hopefully he wasn’t seriously as crazy as everyone says he was.

 

“Whatever,” Jack scoffs, stretching out his arms, staring at the screen for a moment before deciding it was time for an actual break. 

 

* * *

 

Jack had been on his third pudding cup, lazing in the kitchen with his feet propped up on the table when he heard the front door open. 

 

He blinks, licking the spoon clean as his brows furrow.  _ Who..? _

 

“Mom!” Jack hurries to kick his feet off the table, standing up like he hadn’t been breaking a rule. “What are you doing home? I thought Dad sent you to that spa in Switzerland..?”

 

Alicia Spicer blinks slowly as she turns at Jack’s voice. “Jackie!” She smiles happily, evidently haven nursed a couple drinks before she was brought here. She walks over, incredibly balanced on her four inch heels, and throws her arms around his neck.

 

Jack hugs back awkwardly, trying not to fall or bend backwards under her weight as she presses forward. He pulls away, helping her to settle on her own feet, looking her over skeptically. Alicia scoffs and rolls her eyes. 

 

“I can do what I want and I don’t need a babysitter. Do I need a reason to visit my son? Hmm?” She asks, lifting a hand to push back some of his overgrown bangs back behind his ear. That was when Jack noticed something on her own. 

 

It was quite a contrast against her pale skin and thin, blond hair. It looked like metal, curving around her ear like an earring with tiny embedded emeralds and rubies. Silver, feather like appendages curved around the back of the ear and then hugged her head. It was oddly reminiscent of something he saw in a movie, and he shakes his head of the thought. 

 

“Where’d you get that?” He asks, feeling oddly drawl to it like he was to the hummingbird in the shop. He reaches out his own hand.

 

Alicia smacks his arm down and moves away, looking haughty and putting on a holier than thou air about her. 

 

“Your father gave this to me as an apology gift from his newest excavation site Zhoukoudian in Beijing.”

 

“Can I see it?” Alicia glares at him for this like he just offended her dead great grandmother. 

 

“No.” She says, turning like a child instead of the forty year old woman she was and stalking out of the kitchen. Probably to her room, he guesses. He pouts, watching as she leaves and simmers in his own petulant feelings. 

 

“Spicer.”

 

Jack jumps, eyes widening as he looks around. 

 

Nothing. No one. Alicia would never call Jack  _ Spicer _ . Jack was sure of the voice he heard, as sure as he felt the oncoming prickle of pain at the back of his skull. 

 

He never did mention these migraine spells to his doctor, but he could never tell when he would get them. All he knew was that they kept getting frequent starting the not-Chase almost mauling him incident. 

 

Jack shakes his head, clearing the fuzz he started to feel. 

 

“Megan tells me that you’re getting better.” Alicia says, bright demeanor back on her face, giving her crows feet and smile lines. She was out of her heels, wearing leggings and an oversized sweater, and, surprise surprise, a glass of wine in her hand. 

 

“Y-yeah. I am.” His brows furrow. “Why the hell is Megan telling you all of this?” He nearly growls. 

 

“Oh hush, Jackie, mommy’s only worried about you. Megan is just doing me a favor and keeping an eye on you.” She smiles, humming to herself. 

 

Jack stares at her, blinking, and then jumps.

 

“What?” Alicia asks, raising a brow at the sudden jolt.

 

“N-nothing. It’s nothing. Uhm. Okay, so, how long are you staying?” Jack asks, taking a controlled breath as he keeps his eyes on his mother and not Chase who stood a few feet behind her, eyes set in a glare. 

 

Now, normally, Chase’s glares and glowers of death would send a nice shiver up his spine.

 

This was not a normal time. 

 

So Jack played like he doesn’t see Chase, and he just hopes nothing happens because he wouldn’t be able to explain random cuts on his body.

 

“Oh, maybe a few days. I just wanted to see how well you were doing.” She says, smiling like a fat cat. The earring she wore glistened a little, shimmering in the gems. Jack monetarily distracted, eyes going to Chase who’s attention turned to the earring.

 

Chase takes a step forward, and the migraine begins. It starts slow, a step forward made the needle sharp pain stick further in his head. Jack nearly stops breathing, blinking rapidly and hoping Alicia doesn’t notice anything wrong in her drunken stupor. 

 

“Great! Why don’t we go have a movie marathon? You still like rom-coms right?” Jack asked, stepping closer and taking her hand, quickly redirecting Alicia to the other exit of the kitchen, away from Chase. 

 

Jack doesn’t turn back as he exits the kitchen and leaves the warlord/possible hallucination behind. He can’t. Two months of no medications had yielded no showings of hallucinations. He still can’t tell if it’s real, but he sure as hell isn't going to be making a scene with his mother in the room harping about how great he was doing, being episode-free.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack sets up their movie date in one of the further living rooms. He brings extra pillows and blankets and another bottle of wine, for, ya know, keeping his mom distracted. 

 

After popping in  _ How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days _ , he did a quick glance around to see the room void except the two of them before deciding it safe to take his seat. Jack snuggles into his blanket, watching Alicia watch the movie and sip at her wine. Her eyes were glazed, her cheeks flushed. She practically swayed in her seat before leaning back, glass held precariously in hand as if the only proper motor skills she had was holding onto the damn thing.

 

Jack turned his eyes back to the movie, an empty seat between his mother and he. He tries to get lost in the movie, in the hilarity of what  _ not _ to do when dating. But he couldn’t. Not when his eyes prickled even after he rubbed them. The pain wasn’t the usual he expected when his migraines came. It was almost as if something was in his eye and he huffs, rubbing until it went away. 

 

He feels the spot next to him depress into the cushions and he opens his eyes to look at Alicia, wondering what she was up to, and promptly stopped breathing. 

 

Chase sat between them, eyes forward in indifference at the movie. He turns his head just slightly, meeting eyes. 

 

“Isn’t this a little much, Spicer?” He asks, and Jack has to hold in the shiver. 

 

Instead, he pretends like he doesn’t see him.

 

“Mom? Do you need another drink?” He asks, playing it off like he sees right through Chase. 

 

Alicia blinks slowly and looks to her cup, now empty. “Mmm, yeah.” She lifts her hand and swirls the tiny droplet left in it. Jack reaches across the space between them, taking the glass and ignoring the way his forearm brushed against Chase’s chest plate and how the cool metal felt against his bare skin. 

 

Quickly, he refilled her glass with minimal trembling in his hands before handing it back, giving a slightly bigger breadth so his arm wouldn’t brush up against anything— hallucinated or not.

 

Jack settles back in, eyes glued to the TV while he watched Chase watch him out of the periphery. 

 

He kept thinking  _ do something, do something, _ but didn’t move, too afraid of confrontation and of Alicia’s reaction. She very obviously did not see their unintended guest. 

 

Jack was almost glad his mother was gone enough for her to not notice how his body tensed and how his breath came shorter as he fought building panic.

 

“It’s rude to ignore your guests, Spicer.” Chase practically growls and Jack couldn’t help the flinch at his tone of voice. Jack gulps, wishing he had his own bottle to down to blame it all on a drunken stupor.

 

But he thought, if he just ignored Chase, he’d go away.

 

But ten minutes later Chase still sat right there, Alicia none the wiser. 

 

_ What do I do, what do I do? _ Jack mentally whimpers as he hears the shuffling of fabrics that wasn’t the source of his mother moving around. 

 

“Maybe if I,”————- “it would get your attention.” Jack blinks, blinking rapidly to break away the black spots in his vision.

 

“What?” He asks, turning his head with furrowed brows, forgetting his plan to completely ignore his hallucination when he seemed to black out for a millisecond as Chase spoke. 

 

Chase had his hand on Alicia’s neck, toying with her artifact-earring. Jack felt his blood run cold, trying to fight to keep consciousness. 

 

“Oh. So it does get your attention.” Chase says in a bored tone. Jack spares a glance at Alicia, who doesn’t even feel the talons along her scalp. Instead she sighs, setting down her empty cup and snuggles more into her blanket, drifting off into a slumber even as a nightmare sits next to her. 

 

“D-don’t touch her—“ Jack whispers, feeling as if his body were not his own. “Stop———“ He says louder, as suddenly the migraine came. It was rushing and all encompassing. A multitude of sharp pains, vision loss, nausea. 

 

He knew what typically came next.

 

Darkness——-

 

* * *

 

 

Jack woke up with a ringing in his ears. He sucks in a breath, slowly, as the movie started to play again, the noise trickling back into his awareness.

 

Blinking away the dots in his vision he sits up, trying to identify what he felt.

 

And what he felt was a drying flakiness on his neck and under his ears. Touching them, he stares at the red smudges left by drying blood and his jaw drops.

 

Frantically, he sticks his finger in his ear and hears-- _ feels _ the squelch of blood, taking out his finger to gawk at how much blood there truly was.

 

Was… Were these episodes getting worse? Were they causing Jack’s body to shut down?   
  
It seemed completely impossible. Jack not taking antipsychotics does not lead to bodily shut down.

 

Jack leapt off the couch, ignoring Alicia sleeping calmly away. She would have a massive headache when she woke up, but right now Jack couldn't care less. It wasn’t that he hated her, but this was bigger than his alcoholic mother’s problem. He was confused, and if he could admit it to himself, scared. He had  _ no clue _ what was going on and it was making him anxious. Very anxious.

 

In favor of ignoring cleaning the blood out of his ears he made a beeline to his lab, tapping aggravatedly on his keyboard. He doesn’t sit, tapping his socked foot on the hard floor.

 

So, he watches the videos and thanks his past self for having the foresight to plant inconspicuous cameras in all rooms and hallways of the house. Jack watched as Chase scrunched up his face in distaste at Jack’s slumped and unconscious form. Jack Jumps when he saw his own body seize up fully in tension, coiled and face contorted in pain, and barely registered the set of tan bare feet in the corner.

 

_ Wuya. _

 

Chase snaps something at her when the blood started to drip from Jack’s ears, his body giving another full-body twitch, like he was actually seizing, and seconds later they disappear. Jack was tense for another couple moments before he relaxed, slumped against the couch cushions and finally the pained expression went neutral.

 

Jack watches, tense and still himself, until a few more moments later he wakes, and Jack knows the rest.

 

The first thing Jack noticed is he hadn’t slept all night, like what usually follows after an ‘episode’.

 

Jack runs simulations on the videos, trying to find if the light actually catches on their bodies for the cameras to pick up or if he was somehow, in his mind, hallucinating a hallucination  _ on screen _ because he was just that fucked up. 

 

Jack finally sits, massaging his temples from a headache that had nothing to do with Chase showing up randomly. He just wants all of this to  _ stop. _ He’ll even agree to become a celibate monk that lives on the mountain with no technology or any kind of human contact!

 

There was a swoosh of air, and he shivers as he lifts his head up and glares at the open mini window.

 

“Stupid wind..” Jack grumbles, debating on whether or not he should get his ass up to close it and the draft of cold air it let in.

 

“Wow Spicer, didn’t think you’d  _ ever _ give up the ‘evil boy genius’ thing.”

 

Jack spun around so quick in his chair he felt nauseous and dizzy, staring at Raimundo, in all of his hallucinated-flesh glory, casually leaned against his bookshelf across the lab. His eyes quickly glance to his computer briefly, fingers twitching with an itch to pull up the camera in here but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the monk, afraid of what will happen to him next. Last time he encountered the monks, he did end up in the hospital with a bad concussion, after all. Not to mention a trip to his psych’s office and an increased dosage. 

 

At this silence, Raimundo continued, “heard you’ve gone bonkers, snowflake.” He inspects the useless junk on the shelves, fiddling with a wire. “Saying stuff like ‘you’re not real’ and blah, blah, blah.” He waves his hand flippantly, seemingly amused. 

 

Jack is still for a moment, staring before his eyes narrowed. He didn’t dare come closer.

 

“Because you  _ aren’t _ real.” He says defiantly. Raimundo sighs, about to speak before Alicia’s voice flitted down into the room from just up the stairs and both their attentions turn.

 

“Jack! Jack?”   
  
Jack felt a pop of pressure in his head as he turned to the stairs. Alicia does not come down. He looks to Raimundo, but was greeted with empty space. He looks around cautiously, like Raimundo would just pop out from behind something and scare him half to death. 

 

Quickly, after ensuring he really did see no more of the Xiaolin monk, Jack turns off the monitors and cleans up the dried blood.

 

“What!” He calls up, giving another glance around the room. He still felt  _ watched. _ Maybe he was just paranoid.

 

“Mommy has a headache, get me medicine.” She whines, voice getting softer as Jack thinks she was heading back to lay down. Jack gruffs out a sigh through clenched teeth. Deplorable woman could have just gotten her own medicine with how long she took trying to find him,  _ Christ. _

 

Jack turns to his computer, about to call to Chester to do the meandering task before he paused. He turns the monitor back on and pulls up the camera from his lab, his body blocking the screen as much as possible as he stood stock still.

 

Raimundo was still there, narrowed, suspicious eyes aimed at the top of the stairwell that lead into the house. He was still casual, and as soon as Jack saw the miniscule twitch of his animated-hallucinated whatever body that meant he was going to turn to Jack, Jack turned off his computer entirely. 

 

He didn’t want to think about this. About anything. He shut it all down, knowing he would need to reboot his system later and perform upgrades. With shaking fingers Jack went through his task and went upstairs, glad that he never once had to pass Raimundo to get out, or even worse, go around the middle table and prove to himself and his hallucination that he knew he was still there.

 

For once, he was glad he needed to take care of Alicia Spicer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooooo. I kinda have an idea where this is going? LOL it might be ending in like a couple chapters. Thanks for sticking around!<3

Jack wasn’t the best cook in his family. Hell, he would happily say his ability to cook extended as far as to boil water and pop things into the microwave. So, really, he didn’t know why he was standing at a safe distance from a spitting frying pan cooking bacon for his hungover mother. 

 

He had a spatula in one hand, and if he didn’t care about making a total fool of himself in front of her, hungover or not, then he would be holding a skillet top like a shield and trying not to jump and squeal every time the grease popped and crackled, sending the oil in his direction.

 

Jach grumbles, timing turning off the stove in between the sizzles so the oil doesn’t scald him, before putting the rest of it on a napkin covered plate to soak up the extra grease. He sighs, mentally patting himself on the back for little to no burns and especially for not setting fire to the kitchen. He sets the plate in front of Alicia, who had her head down and hidden within her arms on the table, a half empty glass of water next to her left over from her taking medicine. 

 

Eyeing the ancient trinket, he almost wanted to tear it off her ear and keep it for himself as it glimmered in the sun’s rays that peeked into the kitchen. But anytime Alicia seemed to see him fixate on it she’d get withdrawn and glare, becoming like an overly spoilt child. 

 

Honestly it felt like everyone in his family was just an overgrown petulant child with too much money on their hands. How was he the  _ only one _ who had even the smallest semblance of maturity?

 

Jack huffs and tears his eyes away from the pull of her stupid gift before she raises her head and barks and spits like a starving canine protecting its meal. 

 

“Food’s ready.” He says, grabbing a slice for himself because, the fuck,  _ he _ was the one that cooked this bacon. He had spent the rest of the morning and mid afternoon nursing his mom back to near-sober health. He gave her medicine, water, closed the blinds. God, it was  _ exhausting. _

 

But the exhaustion kept him from thinking, hyper focusing on each task so as to not think about Raimundo leaning up against the wall in the same room, or sitting on counters in the kitchen, saying and doing nearly nothing except watch everything play out. Watching Jack take care of Alicia and watch him ignore Raimundo and probably one hundred percent knowing he could see him. 

 

Unlike Chase, Raimundo doesn’t threaten Alicia, which is good, Jack supposed, his presence in general made him anxious. He guessed, another good thing was those weird headaches he’d get whenever he saw someone from the conflict and the pressure behind his eyes when they got too close, was barely nonexistent with Raimundo around and briefly wondered why that was before wiping his mind of such things.   
  
_ It’s not real, get over it.. _ He told himself.  _ But… _ Jack glances to his mother who has laid herself down on the couch, snoozing away the worst of her pain. 

 

Hallucination or not, he supposed now would be the time to demand answers.

 

Jack glanced at Raimundo for a second before he made his way back down to the lab, listening carefully but hearing no footsteps following him. Not that he would, being a Xiaoling Dragon and all kinda gave you those extra abilities to be like a ninja. Which he would totally do if not for how clumsy he actually was. 

 

Plopping his ass in his chair in front of the still turned off computer, he placed his elbows on the desk and buried his face in his hands.

 

A few seconds gone by before he feels watched again and he takes that as his cue to drop his hands and take a deep breath. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Raimundo sitting not too far from him on the desk, barely a foot between them. He supposed that was on purpose. 

 

“Are you gonna stop ignoring me now?” Raimundo asks, exasperation in his voice but he didn’t seem all that fed up like Chase was. Then again, Jack would think the Xiaolin Dragon of the  _ Wind  _ would be more laid back in this type of situation.

 

Jack took another breath, body gearing up to run but he was going to face this. He  _ had _ to. 

 

“You aren’t real.” He says, staring forward but he could see Raimundo make a face. 

 

“Ignoring my presence won’t make me leave either.” Jack turned to him at that, eyes narrowed before he turns and turns on his computer. Raimundo watches, more than likely bored of just watching Jack and Alicia the following hours prior. 

 

Once loaded up and running, Jack swiftly pulls up the video from this room, staring at the Raimundo on the screen.

 

“See?” He sounded smug. “Real.” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back like he’s all that and a bag of chips. Jack stood, turning his gaze to the intruder once more. Raimundo had his eyes closed, acting cool. 

 

Raimundo never saw the fist that landed on his jaw coming. 

 

They both let out a pained noise, Jack cradling his hand and whining as Raimundo groans and wipes at the red mark on his jaw.

 

“What the fuck was that, Spicer?” He growls, his impatience running thin. 

 

“I was checking to see if you were real!” Jack defends, extending his fingers and fisting them to make sure he didn’t break anything. “Why the hell do you have a fucking rock for a jaw, huh? Can you answer me that,  _ Wind Dragon?” _ He quips back, if only to quell the festering feeling in his chest at how  _ wrong _ if felt to bicker with his imagination---if it  _ were _ only his imagination.

 

“Didn’t I just tell you I was?!” Raimundo raised his voice, arms raised in exasperation. 

 

“And why should I believe you? Why can’t my mom see you? Why can’t  _ anyone _ see you?” Jack demands. “The only thing you guys have brought me was a trip to the ER with a concussion!”

 

Raimundo calms at this, pursing his lips like he wasn’t going to tell. Maybe he  _ doesn’t  _  want to tell. Raimundo glances past Jack and Jack furrows his brows, turning his head to see what he could even be glancing at. Seeing nothing, Jack turns back and narrows his eyes at Raimundo.

 

Raimundo does the same to whatever he was looking at. “He has the right to know.” Jack glances back yet sees nothing again. He was about to speak before the voice he heard sent shivers down his spine. It was close, literally half a foot behind him, and deep with warning.    
  
“Not until the other pair becomes active.”  _ Chase. _

 

“The other pair of what?” Jack demanded, looking behind him though no one was there. He could  _ feel him  _  there. 

 

“You heard him?” Jack turns back to Raimundo.    
  
“Of course I did. Where the hell is he?” Jack demands, trying to put authority in his voice. This was  _ his  _ lab, damn it, and if they were all going to just go in and play hide-and-seek with his mental sanity he was putting his foot down! Seeing as Chase never appeared, he huffs and grits his teeth. “This is seriously getting old!” He grabs his hair in frustration. 

 

“You need to stop taking the pills, Jack.” Raimundo says, trying to divulge the topic. 

 

“Oh no, you do  _ not _ get to change the subject here Mr. I-say-I’m-real-but-I-could-be-a-hallucination. And for your information, I haven’t taken those pills in  _ months.” _

 

“I saw you take them this morning.”

 

“Made fake ones the last time I saw Mr. Scaley Dragon Lord.” Jack huffs, crossing his arms across his chest at the chill that ran through him.  _ God _ this was really getting old. “Can you tell him to stop  _ breathing down my neck?!” _ He nearly screeches but manages to hold it in to a minimal. The chill left him a second later, but he still felt crowded. But, again, he was thankful those awful migraines haven’t picked up. 

 

“Fake ones?” Raimundo asks, sitting on the desk and crossing his ankle over his knee. 

 

“Yeah, placebos.” He flips his hands in the air.  _ “Listen, _ if you want me to believe you’re real, you need to give me something here. I can’t keep breaking my hands on a hallucination.” He waves his injured hand in front of Raimundo’s face. 

 

“No one told you to go punching people in the face, pendejo.” Raimundo glares.

 

_ “And no one has told me as to why the fuck I should believe a single thing any one of you say when you nearly got me thrown in the psych ward!”  _ Jack screeches, the silence following. 

 

_ Then _ the pressure came. It was a slow build up, but it escalated and he ends up crouched on the floor, clutching at his head.

 

_ “Move, back up.” Rai. _

 

_ “Don’t tell me what to do, Monk,” Chase. _

 

_ “You’re gonna kill him! Back. Up.” _

 

Slowly, and he meant  _ very slowly, _ the pressure receded and he caught his breath, head still buzzing and feeling faint. The voices above him were muffled, like he was hearing them between a thick pane of glass filled with water.

 

_ “He doesn’t know how to manage it.” _ __   
_   
_ __ “No shit, Sherlock. It’s not like he’s ever had training in this thing. But having you and Wuya around messes with his chi.”

 

_ “So does yours and your monk friends.” Chase says nearly contemptuously. _

 

_ “I’m the Dragon of the  _ Wind,  _ my chi has the least amount of pressure.” _   
  
“Guys,” Jack groans miserably. “Can ya’ll just  _ shut up _ for a sec?” He gags, managing to propel his body forward and to the nearest wastebasket before throwing up his breakfast.  _ Great. _ He mutters to himself sarcastically. Now he really wished he kept ignoring Raimundo-hallucination instead of trying to confront it. 

 

He retches until nothing else can come out and he spits whatever bile taste he could out of his mouth. Hearing silence he looks around-- neither monk nor warlord were there, but there was a cup of water next to him and he was gratefully for it. 

 

Jack didn’t care about the possibility of him drinking air if this wasn’t real. He takes a breath, swishes out his mouth and sips the water as he glances up to his monitor. 

 

_ Empty. _

 

Jack sighs in relief. He’d had enough drama for one day. 

 

* * *

 

 

Jack had enough practice to know how many drops of food coloring he had to drop into the mush in his beaker. Seven drops for every 100 pseudo-Zoloft tabs, in a cup of sugar that had just enough water to leave it thick. Of course, it usually made more but he needed leeway, just in case some break or don’t come out right. 

 

“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you make your own.”

 

Jack had become accustomed to Raimundo popping up randomly. Chase hadn’t shown his face since their last quip, and Jack was grateful, if only for the lack of blackouts and headaches when only Raimundo was here. He hadn’t asked anything else, never finding the time between Alicia there (she had just left yesterday), and then distracted by his new school semester.

 

“I’ve no reason to lie to my imagination.” Raimundo groans, but doesn’t insist he was real, knowing it’ll fall on deaf ears. Silently he watched as Jack pulls out the man-made pill molding tray and carefully moving the mush from the beaker into the molds, then putting the mold under a blacklight heat lamp.

 

Jack was nearly finished when the computer chirped, signifying a “human” visitor. Quickly, Jack put his molds into a drawer and adds different colored food coloring into the rest of the mush, sabotaging his own work.

 

By the time Megan was hopping down the stairs one at a time, Jack was spreading the mush on a flat metal tray, now a weird purple color.

 

“Jack? What _ are _ you doing?” Megan makes a face at the smell of burning sugar.

 

Jack jumps like as if he hadn’t known she was there. Turning, he takes off his safety goggles and gives a fake grin. It instantly fooled her.

 

“Hey Megan. I wanted to try making rock candy.”

 

“You really have thought of everything, haven’t you, snowflake?” Raimundo teases, standing behind him, leaning against the table. Jack ignored him and Megan never even looked his way.

 

“I’m pretty sure you’re doing it wrong.” She says judgmentally.

 

“Well I didn’t ask  _ you.” _ Jack retorts, scoffing. “What are you doing here anyway? Videos not enough proof?” Raimundo tenses next to him. Megan looked offended.

 

“I believe you take them.” Raimundo relaxes, Jack noticed from the corner of his eye.

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Jack waves his hand around. “So, you wanna eat some burnt sugar?” Jack spins around in his chair before grabbing his tray of purple, hardened mush. Megan makes a face of distaste.

 

“Gross. No.” The disgust on her face was palpable as she watches Jack break off a peace and hear it as it crunches in his mouth. “Ugh, I’m leaving.” She turns before seeing Jack speaking with his mouth full, “bye!”

 

Once the computer chirps again, Jack spits out the excess sugar in his mouth with a grimace.

 

“Why would you even do that if you hate it?”   
  
“Got her to leave, didn’t it?” Jack glares. “I don’t have to put up with a judgmental conscious.” Jack scoffs and goes back to work. The pills get finished, refilled into the orange vials before being refilled in Chester’s storage.

 

Raimundo watches as Jack takes his “pills,” and shows chester he had swallowed.

 

“Goodnight, Master Jack.” Chester says as he goes back to his dock to sleep.

 

“Goodnight, Chester.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome! To the maybe-second-to-last chapter of the story! Thanks for sticking around! I totally forgot where I wanted this story to go five years ago but if you like it then I'll call that a success lmao. Thanks for all the reviews!
> 
> Also, I feel like I should mention there is, uhm, quite a bit of gore in this section. And it starts like, after the scene with Chase and Jack and that's all I'm saying. And it kinda ends in an ambulance. At least the gory description does. Just in case you wanted to skip that stuff. Enjoy! Let me know what ya'll are thinking is gonna happen~ it's interesting to see who's on the money~ :3

Jack leaned forward in his seat, staring at the chess board intensely. His opponent is tapping his foot on the floor in impatience, letting out deep, irritated sighs. 

 

“Come  _ on, _ Spicer, make a move already!” Raimundo groans, arms crossed and tilting his head back. He wasn’t very patient, Jack thought, even if he  _ had _ been waiting for Jack to make a move for the last five minutes.

 

Amazingly, Raimundo was  _ actually _ good at playing chess. Which, if he really were part of his imagination, that would make sense. Jack grins as he sees and moves his knight.

 

“Check.” Jack grins, now waiting for Raimundo to take his turn. Raimundo didn’t take long, moving his king out of the line of fire.  _ Perfect, _ Jack thought as he takes his pawn with his rook. “Check.” He says again, grinning more as he’d nearly wiped out his entourage. The best thing was, he was close to a checkmate, with his rook protected by his knight and his knight protected by his bishop. 

 

Raimundo huffs, taking a little bit longer to think before moving into the exact spot he wanted him. He moves his queen into position. 

 

“Checkmate.” 

 

“Again?!” Raimundo grumbles, rubbing his face at his third loss consecutively. They’d been playing for hours, Jack thinks. And every time Raimundo seems to show his prowess in strategies. 

 

Honestly, he thinks this semi-accepting he was hallucinating was the best thing to have happened to him, minus being labeled as mentally ill. Raimundo was not such a bad dude, if he thought about it. They actually got along when they weren’t arguing about good and evil and whatever. They actually had  _ things in common. _ Which, again, could explain him being a hallucination but still.

 

Jack didn’t get freak outs, he didn’t have his blackouts or had his ears bleed since that night Chase showed up. No headaches, no nausea. Then again, no other people from the conflict, which he could totally do without. Doesn’t mean he didn’t wish to see them either.

 

“What’re you doing Jackie?” Alicia asks as she comes into the living room where he was playing. Jack glances at her, seeing her ragged and stressed. He thinks nothing of it, she probably was stressed because she hasn’t had a drink today.

 

“Playing chess.”

 

“Against yourself?”   
  
“Uh, yeah? Who else was gonna play with me?” He asks like it's obvious, pointedly not looking in Raimundo’s direction when he hears a snicker. His mother stares a bit suspiciously before she leaves, the artifact in her ear  _ still _ there, even after weeks. It looked almost as if it had molded with her head, but Jack was sure he was only tripping. 

 

Jack cleans up the board, putting it away in its designated spot. There haven’t been many things he could play with Raimundo. Video games were out, because why would he have two players on the screen if he was playing against the computer? At least chess he could explain.

 

He’d gone out a few times to the supply store, hand always to his ear as he spoke to Raimundo so he wouldn’t get weird looks. 

 

Jack was excited. 

 

Because  _ this _ was exciting. He hadn’t felt this exhilaration since he had left the conflict. This feeling of keeping his hallucination secret. Hadn’t felt this up and rested since they put him on the sedatives. 

 

And now, soon, he was going to take his new hovercraft for a spin. 

 

It had taken a few weeks, with Raimundo’s help, but he was nearly finished. Jack never questioned Raimundo’s need to eat and groaning about his tiredness. He supposed whatever his hallucination thought he was, whether tired or hungry, was true to the hallucination. 

 

A couple weeks ago Raimundo planted a little seed in his head that sprouted and took root. It was true Jack didn’t go out as much as he did when he was in the conflict. The furthest he had ever gone was to the university and back in all these months. Why couldn’t he just go  _ further? _

 

Fuck all the people who want to keep him under surveillance. Fuck this, fuck that,  _ go live, Jack, _ Raimundo had told him. And maybe he really was insane for listening to his hallucinations about a pretty spot up on the mountains that has the best view and, at this time of year, the best weather. 

 

But who cares? Because life was good, Jack decided. Life was good.

 

* * *

 

 

It was days later when the hovercraft was finally ready to be taken for a spin. Jack giddily slunk out of the house to the garage where he had stored it earlier. 

 

With a happy sigh he opens the garage door, gleaming at his invention. It was made with a lot more finesse than his old one. Sometimes, the heli-pack can only take you so far. 

 

The newest model had the body of a stingray, minus the tail and snout, the wings curving up slightly. It was practically a convertible, with two comfortable seats (although don’t ask him why he made it for more than one person. Pfft. Like who would ever get in with him in that?), leather interior (because,  _ evil’s _ gotta ride in style, baby), and bluetooth (because he wasn’t a  _ caveman _ ). The paint job was a shiny, pretty black with a poly-steel layer to protect against scratches and weather. 

 

The best thing was?

 

_ He was gonna ride this baby for miles. _

 

Jack nearly squeals as he skips over to his creation. He was really glad for the technology of the future and his own brilliant mind. He hops into the driver’s seat and presses the on button, the “key” being his genetic fingerprint.  _ Take that, people who wanna hotwire my baby. _ He mentally thought as he built it without seams. He takes another few moments of admiring his finishing his handiwork: red accents. The lights were red, the dashboard had streaks of red, there was red thread on the seats and floormats. 

 

Jack slouches back into the plush and luxurious seat, sighing happily and just day dreaming for a moment, taking in that new-vehicle/creation smell. 

 

“You sound like you’re in love, Spicer.” Raimundo teased, leaning against the passenger door. “Careful, don’t know if she loves you back.” Jack was in too much of a good mood to get angry.

 

“Of course she loves me back, I’m her creator. Don’t you honey?” He asks as he pet the dashboard above his steering system, puckering his lips and making kissy noises. The hovercraft stayed silent, but Jack wasn’t dissuaded. 

 

“So when’re we taking this baby out for a spin?”

 

“Now.” Jack says. “Or, like, gimme a minute to bask in the glory.” Jack leans back in his chair again, smile never leaving his face.

 

“Okay your grin is getting a bit creepy.”   
  
“Shush.” 

 

They were in silence for a few more minutes, Jack’s eyes closed as he takes everything in. He blocks out Raimundo jumping into the craft and making himself comfortable. He ignores the way Raimundo taps his fingers on the outside of the craft like he was counting the seconds.

 

In a few minutes, Jack will feel  _ free. _

 

However, before he could take the full minutes he wanted of basking in his glory, Megan came into the garage. Those women, they’re always so  _ nosy. _ But even she wasn’t enough to dampen his mood.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” She demands.

 

“I’m gonna take my baby out for a spin.” He says simply, smile in his voice. “The new engineering competition is around the corner and I wanna make sure she works as well as I want her to.” Megan comes around to inspect it.

 

“This? A flying metal death trap? How does it even work?” Jack waves her away, opening his eyes. 

 

“No time to explain physics to you. Go, shoo now. You’re ruining my basking.”

 

“And  _ why _ are there two seats?” Megan raises a slender brow, newly plucked, Jack notices. 

 

“Uh, because it would be weird and very lonely to have only one seat?” He says it like it’s obvious. “What if I get a boyfriend in the future? Where are they gonna sit?” 

 

“Am I your boyfriend now?” Raimundo snickers and Jack ignores him despite the light blush on his cheeks. Megan burst into laughter.

 

“You? A  _ boyfriend?” _ Jack glares.

 

“Hey! I’m a  _ fantastic _ guy, so shut your mouth hole!” 

 

“Good one, Spicer.” Both Megan and Raimundo burst into laughter, clutching at their stomachs. Jack folds his arms and simmers.

 

“You’re a fucking ass..” He says to no one in particular. Megan catches her breath and smiles.

 

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Mr. I-sleep-with-a-stuffed-otter.”

 

“Hey! Leaves Philip out of this!” Jack pouts, sticking out his bottom lip ridiculously. “You know what? I’m gone, bye.” He says, pressing the button to turn on his machine. It whirls to life, and once it’s over its initial startup, the whirling silences. Megan looks impressed, stepping to the side. 

  
Carefully, Jack urges it forward. He didn’t know how fast it worked, but he knows whatever energy source he put in there, he knows it can probably go at like, light speed and he didn’t want to crash it into the wall. 

 

Jack barely gives another look at Megan before taking off, cheering when he went straight up into the sky. He should have thought about putting seatbelts on this thing, really, when he glances at Raimundo who was clutching to the side to not fall out.

 

_ Pfft. Some Dragon of the Wind. _ Jack rolls his eyes, doing a quick loop before flying right-side up. He takes a breath, letting out another happy sigh as he enjoys the wind in his face and the open blue skies.  

 

_ God, _ it just feels so nice to be away from everything confining. From his house and his mom and his cousin. And before he was diagnosed, before Grandma Spicer died, he had never felt the peace he does now. 

 

Jack had no idea where he was flying to. He was literally flying by the seat of his pants. He could go  _ anywhere. _

 

And anywhere was were he wanted to go.

* * *

 

 

It was still early afternoon by the time Jack parked his hovercraft, who he’d named  _ Hermes, _ on the mountaintop, careful to keep it away from the edge. The air was chilly against his gloveless hands and it bit at his nose, causing a rosy flush on his face as he jumped out of the craft.

 

Jack should have thought a little more about this. His one sweater and sweats were barely keeping him warm and he shivered. He could hear Raimundo hopping out of Hermes behind him but he was deaf to the world, entranced by the view. 

 

Rolling greens as far as the eye could see, clouds so close you could touch them, the sky starting to turn pink as the sun started to set. Unconsciously, he walks closer to the edge of the mountain and sits down on the grass, shivering at the dew that soaked his clothes that had collected on the terrain. 

 

Even though he never lived far from such scenery, he was never consciously aware that he could look at this anytime he wanted. The Guizhou province was really a place of wonders. 

 

Little air pollution, vibrant greens, tall mountains. A city surrounded by a mote and rivers, living  _ on _ the water. 

 

“It’s gorgeous here.” Raimundo didn’t respond, but sat next to him about a foot away, enjoying the view with him.

 

This was nice. Just him, his hallucination, no drama, and this scenery. Recently he thinks he’s been really trying to convince himself it  _ was _ only a hallucination. And that, since Raimundo first showed up, he seemed more real every time. 

 

They sat in silence for who knows how long. It was a while before Jack finally stood up, stretching as he watches the sunset. Raimundo stood to follow him, probably thinking they’d go back to Hermes and then go home, but Jack started to saunter over to the bulbous mountain-rock formation. 

 

Jack had never been a nature person. His skin color and poor eye function kind of prevented him from being outside too long. But he honestly felt like he could stay up on this mountain forever and become a worshiped deity or something. 

 

Getting closer to the rock, he notices something glimmering near the start of a man-made trail that lets you continue up to the top. Jack tilts his head, forgetting his friend in favor of investigating.

 

Carved into the rock before the pathway was a Buddha. 

 

It was rather small for a statue, even if it was bigger than him. The Buddha was sitting back straight, cross-legged, one hand resting on his knee with his palm out while the other was raised like he was waving. 

 

Jack stares at the meticulous details of the crafting.  _ It was definitely made in more recent times. _ He thinks, seeing how well the statue actually followed human anatomy. The way the robes, made of the rock, seemed to fall like silk along the body. 

 

The Buddha’s eyes were half closed, and Jack felt just a little bit creeped out at how he felt the statue’s pupils on him, its face a paradigm of serenity, peace, and all-knowing. 

 

Once he was done admiring the work, Jack stepped back and took a few steps forward to the trail when he heard the  _ clink _ of metal on rock. Curious, he turned back, furrowing his brow when he saw a glimmer on the floor.

 

The same glimmer than made him go this way but had not ended up on the statue.

 

Reaching down, he picks up what he can only describe as an arm cuff, silver metal laurel leaves curved into a circle. Jack looks around, because there was no way he missed this when he was looking at the statue, and after closer inspection, the cuff didn’t fit on the Buddha’s arms either. 

 

“Hey Raimundo, what do you think this---” Jack looks up, and stops. He takes a few steps into the direction of Hermes. “Rai?” He calls again, looking around, thinking Raimundo was just going to play a joke, but he finds no one. It wasn’t rare for Raimundo to disappear, probably doing Xiaolin Warrior things, or his mind probably just needing a break, but it was  _ weird _ to just have him  _ poof _ and vanish. Well, it wasn’t, but the feeling he got made the hair on his arms stand and he didn’t like it. 

 

“Rai? Hellloooooo?” He tries again, furrowing his brows at the silence that followed. 

 

Well, there goes his option of asking Raimundo what he thought about taking it home.

 

It felt weird to want to take it home. It didn’t belong to him and he didn’t think anyone who owned this would want to lose it because it seemed like it was worth a lot of money for the craftsmanship. But it also felt weird to think about leaving it where he found it. 

 

The cuff was like a siren call, and he wanted to follow what it wished: take it home. Or so that’s what he told himself, but he was evil anyway so what does it matter if he stole someone’s jewelry out in the middle of nowhere?

 

Not really his problem. 

 

Jack went back to Hermes after triple checking his surroundings to make sure Raimundo really did vanish into thin air. He shoves the cuff into the glove compartment before gearing up to head home. 

 

* * *

 

 

It had been a couple hours ago when Jack parked Hermes in his garage, took his afternoon “meds,” and stared at the silver laurel cuff he set on his desk in his lab, surrounded by Chinese takeout boxes he ordered for dinner.

 

He had just spent the last hour staring, thinking of nothing in particular but the glimmer of minerals in the cuff.

 

_ Wear it, _ the little voice in his head whispered and he resisted every time until the strike of the third hour.

 

Jack plucks the cuff off the table after clearing it off and inspects it. It looks too small to fit on his wrist. His hands, thin and bony though they may be, were still rather manish enough that he couldn’t squish them through.

 

Doesn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

 

So he does.Jack bunches up his fingers close together and sticks it through the opening. It only took a few forceful tugs and getting cut on the metallic laurel leaves before it slides just under his wrist, looking cozy and comfortable and Jack swore he could fel a pulse of energy go through him, but it was only the quickening of his heart in anticipation.

 

Jack raised his arm to admire it. The blood didn’t bother him, he’s had worse accidents in his lab. He’s had worse during showdowns, too. The cuff was snug on his wrist and he swore he might have felt it tighten and move. Jack shakes his head, a thought of taking it off flitting through his head.

 

“What lovely jewelry you have, Spicer.”   
  
Jack jumps, turning to stare at Chase wide-eyed.

 

“Ch-Chase, uh, what are--- What are you doing here?” He asks, blinking rapidly. He hasn’t seen him in months following the last time. Jack kind of wished he could punch Chase, too, to make sure he was real like he did with Raimundo. But if Raimundo had a rock for a jaw, Chase’s would be made of titanium and he’d really like to  _ not _ break his hand. Plus, he’d also like to live. Raimundo was a good guy, keeping Jack alive was basically his job.

 

Chase, however, had no vested interest in keeping Jack alive, and so Jack would rather play it safe. 

 

Jack stood, leaning back against his desk as he stares at the warlord, keeping himself back from asking where Raimundo was.

 

“Just keeping an eye on you.” Chase said airily. “How are you doing, Spicer?”  _ That _ threw Jack off. He felt weird, lost, and unbalanced even though he stood normally on both feet. 

 

Chase  _ never _ cared about how he was doing.

 

“Uh-- ah, I’m, uh, good? Yeah, good. Ya know, things’re going.” He paused, fidgeting, watching Chase watching him calmly, less predatory than before. “How--- How’re you? The conflict and Wuya and whatever.” He tacks on awkwardly, knowing he’d feel bad about ignoring a question, even if it was from his imagination.

 

“The conflict goes.” Chase mimics Jack’s verbiage and silence follows.

 

“W-well. You’re here, I’m good---” He catches Chase’s eyes flicking to his wrist in curiosity and Jack raises his arm again for him to see. “I found it near a Buddha statue in Guizhou.” He says. He might as well be pleasant with Chase too. Chase gives a single nod. “Here,” Jack starts, trying to pull it off but the only good it did was cut him some more until his wrist and hand was a bloody mess with tiny cuts. “Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have put it on.” Jack whines, giving up. He was going to have to cut it off later.

 

Chase hums. “What will you name it?” 

 

“Uhm, what?” Jack looks up from the cuff, brows furrowed. “Name it? Why would I name it?”

 

“You’ve named almost everything else you have.” Chase says simply, waving his hand toward his bloody hand. “Why not this?” Jack scowls.

 

“I do not!” Chase raises a slender brow, unamused.

 

“Philip the Otter, Hermes the Hovercraft, Chester the Robot.” He names off and Jack has to blush a little because,  _ okay, _ he really did name everything. Jack huffs.   
  


“Okay, well, what the hell am I supposed to name this thing? Which isn’t even  _ mine?” _

 

“How about…” Chase pauses, as if thinking, looking down at the floor. When he lifts his head, the intensity in his eyes made Jack shiver. “Ephemeral Veracity?”

 

Jack makes a face. “What kind of name is Ephemeral Veracity?”

 

Chase’s face was neutral, or it would have been if Jack hadn’t noticed the little glimmer of what he could only describe as pity in his eyes. He furrowed his brows more.

 

Jack felt a sting on his hand and before glancing down, he had thought he had moved it against one of the cuts. His eyes widened when he saw the metal laurels spread and multiply. One end reached up to his middle finger, cutting along the way as it quickly wraps around like ivy, branching out to wrap around his thumb.

 

Jack looked up to Chase, hoping,  _ pleading, _ that this was all just a dream. That he wasn’t going crazy. Chase looked on, watching as the second end of the laurel curled around and around his arm, under his shirt and around his chest and up to his ears and eyes in new branches.

 

_ It hurt. _ But Jack kept on looking at Chase because he looked like he knew what was going on, even though he was doing nothing. Before the leaves covered his eyes, he thought he could spot a flicker of regret in the warlord’s eyes.

 

When the metal laurels cut his cheeks and across his bridge, he could feel his breath coming in short bursts. The smell of burning flesh reached his nose and he realized  _ it was his own. _ Jack opened his mouth to scream just as the most electrifying shock ran through him and his body tensed and went down, hitting the corner of the desk as he did. 

 

The only thing he heard over the pounding in his ears before he was out like a light was the terrified scream of his mother from upstairs. 

 

* * *

 

 

When Jack woke up his heart was pounding and his body was in excruciating pain. Blinking away the haze he attempted to sit, hand shaking as he raised it to touch his head. He hissed when it hurt to move and when his vision focused he almost wished he hadn’t even woken up.

 

The putrid smell of burning flesh and blood was only made stronger by the sorry sight of his hand. If he had anything left from dinner he would have thrown it up. 

 

His hand shook as he fixated on the damage. Nearly his whole hand was stripped of skin, the whatever it was he put on his cuff that blew up-- or  _ whatever  _  it did, left him with his fine hand muscle exposed. Jack gulped when the bones of his knuckle and ring finger came into view. 

 

Jack vaguely thought he was lucky his hand wasn’t completely incinerated. And then also vaguely thought it was a good thing he was ambidextrous, even though he did prefer his right hand over left, he could make due if he never regains function in his right hand. He follows the damage up to his wrist, gagging when the damage was worse where the cuff first sat. 

 

Jack takes in a shaking breath, it cutting short on a hiccup as his eyes welled with tears.  _ “Fuck..”  _ He whimpers, but he had to keep going. His eyes trail further down where the laurels had wrapped around and around up his arm. He could see the small indentation from where the skin slopes into the muscle, leaving groves in his body that he knew were going to scar an ugly, angry pink. 

 

_ At least they make it look like I got hit by lightning. Those scars always look cool. _ Jack thought despite his inability to form any coherent thought aside from  _ my hand is nearly gone. _

 

The damage was less extensive, if only compared to his hand and wrist, where he was burned to the bone through his muscles. The burning was still deep, it took all his might to even keep sitting and attempting to assess the situation. Even his other hand he leaned on barely had strength. The laurels had miraculously  _ not _ burned through his clothes. 

 

Finding the strength the sit up without leaning on his good arm, he pulls the collar of his shirt just a little, off his bleeding chest, and whimpers again. 

 

_ It’s a good thing I never wanted to become a doctor. _ He says to himself as a distraction. 

 

Jack doesn’t even attempt to see how bad the injury was on his face and neck, behind his ears where he remembers the leaves had dug in. First, he didn’t have a mirror, and secondly, he already thought he was an  _ okay _ looking dude, he didn’t want to see how badly this incident fucked him up look-wise. He was only glad that the blast-- or whatever that was, didn’t blind him when the leaves grew past his eyes. Although his eyelid did feel tender, and Jack suspected they had been burned as the rest of his body had in various degrees.

 

The thought made Jack close his eyes. He didn’t want to keep ruining his face with the need to blink.

 

He could just lay here, he thought. Someone  _ ought _ to come soon and find him, lying broken on the floor with a bony hand and what was left of the muscle, probably soaking in his own blood. And then he would be taken to the hospital and he would be treated and he would say it was a freak lab accident. 

 

Jack’s eyes flew open a second later, gasping in air.

 

_ “Mom!” _

 

Despite the near crippling pain Jack stood, wobbling for a few moments while his left hand tried to steady him with the desk behind him. His head felt full and bursting, and he guessed it was because he had hit his head hard on the way down to the floor.

 

But right now, that didn’t  _ matter. _ The headache from a possible concussion could wait when he remembered Alicia’s screech right before he passed out. 

 

Jack’s body throbbed every half-step he took. He desperately wanted to cradle his more injured hand to his chest but he doubts that would be wise. There was nothing there to hold and he didn’t want to risk his skin sticking to his exposed muscles. 

 

At the thought he whimpered and kept his hand as relaxed and as close to his chest as he dared, leaving space for accidental trip ups so his hand would never touch his shirt. 

 

Jack practically had to crawl up the stairs. It was torturously slow without the use of both his hands. He had ended up on his knees two steps up, unable to keep standing with how bad his leg shook. He was only running on adrenaline now, that had to be the only reason he could keep moving when every time he brought his knee up to the next step and attempted to crawl in his condition, his body tensed and pulled on the skin around the grooves in his body.

 

Jack knew the human body was capable of most anything. He just never thought he would have to go through it. 

 

Finally, Jack made it to the top of the stairs and takes in short bursts of breath. 

 

_ “Mom!” _ He calls, and he wished he programed Chester to do more than just wake up and shove pills down his throat. He wished he never took apart all his servant Jackbots. He wished, at the moment, that he had just been killed during a showdown. Without an answer back to his plea, Jack manages to get his feet under him and skim along the hallway wall. “Mom!” He tries to yell louder but his throat was terribly parched and it hurt his neck to scream. 

 

Jack’s labored breath was loud in his own ears, which was probably just as torn up as the rest of him. He had remembered the way the leaves dug into his skin behind his ears, like they were trying to get under his skin and into his brain. 

 

_ Like how Alicia’s antique earring curved around her ear and into her hair. _

 

It was slow progress to the spot he knew his mother to typically be at. Alicia would only ever be in three places in the house: her room, the living room, or the kitchen where they had a large, separate, pantry filled with nothing but the best wines and liquor. 

 

He doubted she was in her room. The scream was closer than that, he knew despite his foggy brain. Her room was on the polar opposite end of the house on the second floor. The walls were thick and there was no way her scream carried all the way into his basement, even  _ if _ all the doors were open. 

 

Jack nearly broke into tears when he found nothing in the living room. An empty glass on the coffee table and a messy pile of blankets on one side of the couch. 

 

He really did break out in tears when he realized he had to get to the kitchen. The tears burned his face, it felt like. It stung his eyes worse than chilly pepper and the tears rolled over whatever melted skin and exposed muscles.  _ But he couldn’t stop.  _  Not once he’d started.

 

Jack’s sobbing got hysterical and he chanced falling flat on his face to grip his left hand tight into the front of his shirt, hiccuping at the hammering pain of touching whatever had been hurt on his chest. Try as he might to get his breathing under control, he knew he couldn’t. If adrenaline was the only thing keeping him going then he needed to get to the kitchen before it ran out, or else he would not only be in a world of hurt, he might actually die. 

 

Which, with as much pain as he felt, thought it probably wasn’t such a bad idea. At least then he wouldn’t have to think about if he was crazy or not. 

 

Body shaking, with painful tremors and his wailing cries, Jack shuffled inch by excruciating inch out the hallway and to the kitchen.

 

“M-mom?” He practically whispers, afraid to even breathe with how much it snagged on the damage on his neck. He took a quick look around----she wasn’t there. He was nearly about to break out in hysterics again--- that he would have to go  _ upstairs _ to find her in her room, when he noticed a glimmer of a broken wine glass on the floor.

 

Jack sucks in a breath, getting a stab of pain through his entire body when he follows the trail of broken glass and wine that leads to an unconscious Alicia Spicer. 

 

“Mom!” He practically yells despite the pain. Even more amazing, he took five whole steps to her before crumbling down to his knees next to her body. Jack went to roll her over, hissing in pain when he realized doing so with his  _ right _ hand was a terrible idea, even if adrenaline kept him going. He wasn’t invincible. 

 

Carefully, using his left hand, he rolled her over on her back. She was breathing, thank god, but it was shallow and labored, much like his was. Blinking the excess tears from his eyes, he realized there was blood where her head had lain, and upon closer inspection, it looked like the entire right side of her head was torn.

 

Sickening, raised flesh like she had been skinned along her scalp. Jack only managed to keep from throwing up when he looked away.

 

_ Burned, too. _ Jack thought, smelling it. Just like him, like his arm. He wondered if it was just his brain talking, that it was  _ his _ burnt flesh he smelled and not hers. But her head was definitely injured, badly. 

 

Heaving himself up to his unstable legs took Herculean effort. It took even more effort to take the two steps to the counter and grab the house phone. It would be so nice to pass out and never wake up, he thought as he tries to dial the Chinese version of  _ nine-one-one. _ Every push of a button felt like a stab at all of his wounds. 

 

_ “--What is your emergency?”  _  Jack had half a mind to turn it on to speaker phone. 

 

“We need.. Help,” He rasps into the receiver end. “Accident--” His voice breaks into a sob. The girl on the other end gives a sound of affirmation.

 

_ “Sir? We’ll need your address.”  _ Jack tries wetting his mouth with what little saliva he produced, and stutters out his address. His body was starting to feel cold and unreal.

 

_ He was going into shock. _

 

Jack drops the phone after he hears the dial tone on the other end of it, unable to even put it back on the dock. 

 

* * *

 

 

Jack sucks in a labored breath, being told to breathe through the pain. 

 

“What happened?” The EMT asked as he and his partner pulled wires from cubbies and hooked up saline pouches. Jack didn’t have the capacity to argue when they shoved a needle into his good arm.

 

“Acc---dent..” He wheezes, still shaking terribly, still one giant mess. 

 

“And the girl?”   
  
“Mom---- do--t kn--” Jack would kill for a glass of water. “Foun--- her.. Like-- at..” Jack hoped the EMT knew what he was saying, even as the man nodded and hooked up sticky things to his chest. Jack practically wailed when he moved unnaturally against the sunken grooves on his chest.

 

The EMT looked apologetic and did it more carefully, and Jack was practically in and out of aware consciousness for the entire ride to the hospital. 

 

Jack’s only saving grace was the morphine they injected him with when he was pulled into the ambulance. The voices around him were muffled and his vision began to blur long ago. He could barely see anything, except for the blobs of forms walking around. 

 

They had him in a gurney, rushing down the hall to the operating room, Jack figured at the shouts of orders. 

 

He was okay now, he thought. He could sleep. 

 

* * *

 

 

The next time Jack regained conscious thought he was in a hospital bed, practically covered head to toe in bandages. His whole right hand was wrapped and after squirming a tad bit, he realized it went up his entire arm. They were around his chest and stomach, around his upper left arm. They were snug but not choking around his neck, and he could feel the gauze on his cheeks and behind his ears. 

 

The only thing that was the same was the awaiting pain behind the haze of medication. 

 

Cracking his eye open he glanced around the room. His vision was never perfect, and it could be the drugs talking, but he definitely never had vision this bad. He couldn’t even see his bandaged arm clearly even though it rest a foot away on the bed. 

 

It was kind of funny how, even when he was hurt probably beyond repair, the only thing he could think of was if his mom was okay.  It was nighttime, he deduced after peeking at the dark colors outside the window. 

 

He didn’t know how long he was out, but he needed answers. He needed to know. 

 

Despite the medications, his could still feel everything in his body. He was glad the bandages helped keep his body together. But he felt the gauze stick to the wet membrane of his muscle and tug when he moved, and he wished someone had had the forethought to put the button to call the nurse into his hands before they left.

 

_ Idiot doctors. _ He mentally huffed, listening to the muffled, rhythmic beep of his heart monitor. He tried to move again and whimpered at the pain. Jack practically melts back into the bedding and pillows after giving up on trying to move more than a twitch. 

 

God, he was  _ exhausted. _

 

* * *

 

 

It was sometime in the morning when Jack woke up to someone shuffling around in the room. He groans, partially because of the pain, and partially because he wanted to get their attention. 

 

When Jack had the strength to crack open his eyes, he squinted to see who it was. They wore scrubs, so Jack assumed it was a nurse. 

 

“How are you feeling?” The voice asked, high-pitched in that way that many girl’s voices are. Jack grunted again, keeping still for another moment longer. 

 

“Like I’ve been hit by a semi.” The nurse nods sympathetically. At least Jack hoped it was sympathetically. His voice was gravely and scratchy, breaking at intervals to leave the nurse figuring out what he said. 

 

“The EMT said you had an accident?” Jack gave a miniscule nod of his head. “What kind?”   
  
Jack stayed quiet for a moment. “Lab,” he rasped. “Something I was working on exploded.” The nurse was writing down on a chart, pen flying away a mile a minute and it grated on Jack’s brain. 

 

“Where’s my mom?” He rasped again, clearing his throat. It was only after he did, did the nurse finally realize he must have been thirsty and fetched a cup of water, helping him drink.  _ Christ, now I really am an invalid. _

 

“She’s in another room. Did she get caught in the same thing?” Jack tried to remember. He really did. He shook his head.

 

“I found her-- like that.” He sighs at the water, wetting his lips after the whole cup was devoured. “Is she okay?” He asked, furrowing his brows. 

 

“She’s unconscious so we are keeping her for observation.”   
  
“How long was I out?” Jack asked after he felt strength returning to his voice despite the pain. 

 

“Since last night.” Jack looked to the window, it was bright. “It’s nearing the afternoon. You were brought in at one in the morning.” Jack tries to jerk his head her direction but stops himself just in time. “You should get more rest. Besides the wounds, you had nothing else wrong with you. So once you’re all settled we can discharge you.”

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t until three days later that Jack was even strong enough to sit up on his own. But by his own stubbornness he manages to pass the silly movement tests by the doctors. 

 

Everyday he’d ask him how his mom was, and every day they said she hadn’t woken up. He was getting worried, and the only way to check on her himself was to be up and about. 

 

So he pushed himself in the silly rehabilitation sessions. Stretching this way and that, wiggling his fingers--- not his right ones. 

 

Jack was practically winded when he came to sit at the edge of his bed. If he could stand and move from his bed to the other side of the room without fainting, he could be discharged. Taking careful, measured breaths, Jack stood. Sucking in another breath he balanced just enough to hobble his foot one in front of the other. It was a slow progression. A shuffle of feet, a twitch of pain. And after a minute or two he was at the wall he needed to be at. 

 

In pain, terrible pain, but there nonetheless. 

 

“Good.” The nurse says happily, seemingly uncaring of Jack’s struggles as she jots in her charts. “Your doctor will be in shortly.” She says as she turns heel and scampers off. Probably to watch another patient be miserable so she doesn’t feel pathetic about her own life. 

 

Jack practically falls into the nearby chair, breathing through the pain. He had never seen his doctor once in the three days since his admittance.  _ It’s weird, _ he told one of the nurses,  _ it isn’t, _ they said.  _ He’s the best doctor here and is always swamped. _

 

But now, Dr. Whoever-it-was was going to check on Jack and make sure he was well enough to go home. 

 

Jack heard his steps seconds before the sliding door opened again. And even though Jack was nearly blind as a bat, he couldn’t be mistaken about who this was. 

 

“Are you Jack Spicer, Alicia Spicer’s son?” Jack nods dumbly, eyes wide. The doctor gave a pleasant smile. He held out his left hand for a shake, and Jack did it back automatically. “It’s nice to finally meet you, though I do wish we met under different circumstances.” The doctor paused a moment, making eye contact because it was a doctorly thing to do with patients.

 

“I’m Morton Thyson, MD. I’m your mother’s primary care physician.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Well, welcome to the end! Hope you enjoyed this mind-fuckery of I don't even know what I wrote.: >  
> Is Spicer crazy or was everything real? This story has been kind of like one giant ride for me. Picking up stories you started to write 5 years ago with no notes on how to continue is hard lmao. _

Jack stares at his face, into his eyes, just trying to find a glimmer of recognition for seeing him for nearly a whole year. 

 

Nothing.

 

Forget jumbling his speech while speaking, his words were jumbled in his  _ head. _

 

But Dr. Thyson only looks on with his doctorly smile, detached but patient, as he waits for an answer.

 

It takes Jack a moment to find his voice but eventually he speaks. “How’s my mom?” His voice is gangly and hoarse, probably from all the screaming he’d done when the bracelet thing melted his hand. 

 

Despite his (probably unintelligible) question, Dr. Thyson gives a tired smile. 

 

“How about we worry about you first?” He suggests like it made all the sense in the world. And it probably did, and Jack should probably worry about himself and his recovery first. And it wasn’t like he loved his mother too dearly or anything, but, he had a feeling her thing happening and his thing happening was no mere unhappy coincidence.

 

“Just tell me if she’s dead or not.” Jack rasps out, wincing when his grimace tugged at the burnt skin on his neck. 

 

Dr. Thyson seemed surprised for a mere second before a troubled look came across his face. “She’s alive… Can you tell me what happened? The extent of your injuries are very severe, especially on your right side.” Dr. Thyson holds his pen like he was ready to write. Jack’s right fingers twitched and yet again he winces.

 

“I don’t really remember.” Jack lies easily, furrowing his brow. He had perfected being a liar while keeping his hallucinations secret. “I remember working on something in the lab… I may have accidentally did something with whatever I was working on and it blew up?” He put a lilt into his scratchy voice to make a question, coughing when his mouth became too dry.

 

A nurse was called in to bring a glass of water with a straw, allowing Jack the small mercy of wetting his parched mouth. Dr. Thyson waits until Jack is done to talk, “was Alicia in the room with you?”

 

Jack pauses at the use of her name, wondering, why hadn’t he said “your mother” instead of “Alicia”? He thinks this information will come in handy later, and he files it away as he moves his head side to side, barely able to move.

 

“No,” he affirms his head shaking. “She was in the kitchen… I found her like that.” Jack furrows his brows as he relays the information a second time. Did they think he did it on purpose? “I heard a scream,” he starts, voice smoother after water. “I don’t know if it was before or after the explosion, but when I woke up again I went to look for her and found her in the kitchen.” He explains further to waft away suspicion, whatever they suspect him of.

 

“I see.” Dr. Thyson says thoughtfully. Jack feels unsettled by the following silence.

 

“Is Mom in a coma?” The doctor looks at him, a bit grim around the eyes, and sighs, nodding.

 

“Since her admittance she hasn’t woken up, nor does she respond to outside stimuli.” He explains. “However, she still has brain activity so we are assuming the trauma she received to the head is what is keeping her comatose.”   
  


Jack nods, nibbling with little pressure on his lips.  _ Well, _ he thought,  _ at least she’s not dead. _ Because while they didn’t have the best mother-son relationship, he didn’t wish death upon her either.

 

“When you were admitted, the nurses forgot to take your medical history. Are you taking any current medication?”

 

Jack startles, jostling all the wounds. He stares at the man before nodding. “Yeah. Just Adderall for ADHD.” Dr. Thyson nods and writes it down.

 

“Just that?” Jack nods. “All right then.” Dr. Thyson easily agrees, like he hadn’t been prescribing Jack Zoloft and Risperidone for a whole year. “The nurses say you’ve made good progress on your physical therapy, however, I would like to keep you here for another week to watch over your hand.”   
  
Jack groans. He’d wanted to go home. He  _ hates  _ doctors, primarily psychologists. Dr. Thyson chuckles at his reluctance.

 

“I know you'd rather go home but your wounds could easily get infected, especially with how deep they run. Here we can monitor your health and healing progress, as well as give more pain medication if you need it, skin grafts that help with scarring, and stem-cell treatment for your right hand.” Jack stares, confused, at the last part and why he’d need it.

 

Dr. Thyson seems to take pity on him and tells him.

 

“You haven’t seen it since it’s been bandaged, and you only feel pain now, but if you don’t get treatment it’s possible you will lose all feeling in your right hand, and part of your arm.”   
  


Jack stares, mouth agape in unmasked horror, even though when he first saw the damage and saw the bones peeking out, he subconsciously knew it was a real possibility he could lose his hand altogether.

 

Patiently the doctor waits for the news to sink in. Jack swallows, throat suddenly parched again and suddenly chilly in the therapy room.

 

“I--” Jack swallows again. “I’ll stay here.” Dr. Thyson nods like it was the only viable option.

 

Jack stares at his right hand, limp on his lap. Behind the pain and painkillers, he couldn’t feel his hand, couldn’t even clench it into a fist.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack endured two weeks of excruciating pain at the hands of his nurses, interns, and surgeons alike. He wished they would put him under as they peeled off the bandages and grafts to put fresh ones on, Jack nearly throwing up at the sight of his right hand.

 

Jack thinks he’s lucky, at the least, that the wounds on his face and across his eyes were light and quick to heal with the second skin. He stares at himself in the mirror, eyes following the slight dip in his skin and follows the lines across his face, where the laurels cut into his eyes, cheek, and ears. He just thanks whatever God is out there the damage wasn’t as bad as his body, despite it being more delicate skin.

 

The wounds along his left arm, hips, and chest were healing nicely but the grafts did nothing about the snowflake like scarring. As predicted, the scars run deep, giving a weird pinkish hue.

 

The only problem remains with his right arm.

 

Despite the weeks of treatment, grafts, and experiments, it looked like his arm, starting from just an inch above his elbow, was going to be useless. He was lucky the muscles that had regenerated through the treatments were as much as much as they had. Jack suspects Dr. Thyson never had high hopes for the stem cell treatments. And although Jack was hopeful and did everything they said to a  _ T, _ his enthusiasm started to dwindle when the doctors, at the last few treatments, had said doing more wouldn’t help any despite Jack wanting to keep going.

 

_ Look on the brightside, _ Jack tells himself, having a one-way conversation with his reflection in the night time window.

 

_ Oh? What’s that? _ His reflection practically sneers. Jack smiles back, maybe a little too manic to be considered normal.

 

_ This totally gives us an excuse to amputate and get a cool robot arm. _

 

Jack’s reflection was dumbfounded, then troubled, then dumbfounded again.

 

_ Well, when you put it like  _ that, _ it certainly does sound like something positive. _

 

Jack was sure he now looked more crazy then he had when everyone thought he was schizophrenic, talking to his reflection. He ruefully looks down at his bandaged arm, trying in vain to clench his hand into a fist with only a twitch of his fingers to show for his valiant effort. 

 

Somehow, he doesn’t think he can muster up any feelings at all, let alone those that are called for in situations like these. He was numb, his pain was numb, and if he could say, wished he would have rather somehow died instead.

 

Or maybe this near comatose consciousness  _ was _ death. He’s heard that death was peaceful, often numbing, much as he was now.

  
First hunger and then thirst is lost. Speech is lost next, followed by vision. The last senses to go are usually hearing and touch.

 

Jack can’t remember the last time he ate, though he was sure the nurses force fed him lunch at least. The last he’d drank was half a cup of water with his pain meds earlier that night. He will regret it later when a headache builds from his dehydration, but right now he was too engrossed in the droplets on the window from the rain that had started.

 

Maybe, he thinks, vaguely aware at how slow his brain was thinking with his good hand resting on the window, that maybe everything prior  _ was _ a hallucination. Like a dream within a dream. Or it wasn’t, then it was, and this freak accident has landed him in a coma and he's probably lying dying on his lab floor.

 

Jack spends the rest of his night in a haze of medication, watching the rain fall.

* * *

 

 

Jack watches the nurse as she rebandages his arm, staring unperturbed at the bones peeking through on his wrist and fingers where nothing could be regrown.

 

“You’ll be discharged tomorrow.” The nurse says peppily, like she hadn’t just handled the worst mangled arm she had ever seen. “Aren’t you excited?” Jack nearly laughs, but manages to keep it at a half-grin grimace. All the bruises and broken bones he'd gotten from showdowns will never compare to this loss.

 

“Yeah…” He croaks out, “excited.” The nurse smiles like she doesn’t see he’s flagging.

 

“Well, of course it would be when you’ve got so many friends visiting you!” She gets up, the widest smile he’s seen on her face yet. His world nearly stops, trepidation evident on his face.

 

“... Friends?” Jack’s brows furrow. He  _ had _ no friends. “Who---”

 

The door opens and Jack chokes on his own spit. 

 

“Hey, hey, look who crawled out of the metalwork.” Raimundo gives him a lopsided grin, Kimiko next to him, holding a gorgeous bouquet of flowers. Clay and Omi nowhere to be seen. Jack’s mouth gapes and flaps like a fish.

 

“I think we broke him.” Kimiko says in a stage whisper, keeping a smile on her face. Jack glances to the nurse, ready for her to ignore them and go help her next patient but her eyes hone in on the couple and she smiles brightly.

 

“You’re just in time! I thought you wouldn’t make it before visiting hours!” Jack stares between the nurse, who was directing Kimiko on where to put the vase of flowers, to Raimundo, whose face seemed sheepish.

 

Jack didn’t know what to say. Was he still dreaming?

 

“I’m going to go call Omi and Clay, tell them we found the hospital.” Kimiko says, stepping out and leaving the room. Raimundo and Jack left in awkward silence. Raimundo tried not to meet his eyes, even though Jack stared unabashed at him like he was two-headed.  _ You’re not real, _ lingering on the tip of his tongue.

 

“Soooo…” Raimundo stretches out his word, uncomfortable. “You look…” He pauses, hand on his chin in thought as he looks over Jack’s form. “... Not good.” Jack is quiet, blinking slow before huffing out a laugh.

 

“Yeah. Well, seems like I never not  _ not _ looked good.” Jack said past the lump in his throat. “Constantly being maimed does that to you.” Raimundo gives a nervous laugh, scratching lightly at the side of his face.

 

Jack felt the panic he once felt start to fester in his chest. It clawed up his sternum and choked him further, following the sickening lines of the scars and prickling his body with needles. Jack really hoped he wasn’t having a heart attack right now.

 

“Y-yeah.. About that..” Raimundo starts and was cut off by the scream, that turned into hysterical yelling and cursing. Jack’s eyes widen, hearing doctors and nurses try to settle the patient.

 

“Mom!” Jack scrambles out of bed despite the spikes of pain in his body. Raimundo catches him before he faceplants, but doesn’t stop him as Jack clumsily runs out of the room so fast he smacks into the opposite wall in his desperation.

 

“Sir, you can’t come in here.” One of the nurses said, keeping him back from entering.

 

“What’s wrong with my mom?” Jack nearly glares at the man keeping him bodily from moving inside.

 

“She woke up in hysterics. Now  _ please, _ you need to get out so we can do our job.” Jack growls impatiently but stops struggling.

 

Alicia was spouting nonsensical things as they held her down and sedated her. Her first time awake and she’s gone bonkers. That’s just Jack’s luck. 

 

“We’re administered Haloperidol.” The doctor on duty told him as Jack leaned against the door frame.

 

“When will she be lucid?” Jack asks, keeping his eyes on Alicia’s supine form. He had visited only a few times during her coma, and she looked more wasted away each time he saw her. There was permanent, ugly scarring on the side of her face and down her neck.

 

“We’re hoping by tomorrow.”

  
_ “There’s been permanent brain damage.” Dr. Thyson says, sounding sympathetic, but not apologetic. “We won’t know for sure the extent of the damage until she wakes up, but based on the area we can predict minor dementia, problem solving difficulties, and problems with emotion.” He takes a moment to let the information sink in. “However, whatever happened stretches rather far… so she might also experience problems with language.” _

 

Raimundo and Kimiko were herded out during the hysteria, since visiting hours were over, giving an awkward goodbye Jack didn’t pay attention to. Now, sitting back in his hospital bed and staring at the flowers they left behind with a tacky “get well soon” card, he wished he’d questioned them.

 

* * *

 

 

Come morning Jack was barely rested, eager to leave the confines of a hospital and eager to leave before any other “friends” tried to make an appearance again.

 

Jack vaguely wondered how he got to the hospital two cities over, but he suspected they were transported during sedation. And only briefly did he need to think about booking the next train back home.

 

Was he running away from his problems? Yeah. Was he running from reality and solving whatever it is that’s happening? Yeah, yeah he was. But can you blame him?

 

After going through all that fuck shit and losing his hand in the process, he would be happier becoming a hermit crab. He’s done searching for answers.

 

Done.

 

Finito.

 

Capisce?

  
Good. Jack’s eyes started to droop with the rocking of the train. A little shut eye would do him good.

 

* * *

 

 

Apprehension was building in every cell in his body as the cab stopped in front of his house. He pushes out of the backseat and the cab drives off once his belongings (really, just Jack himself), was out of the cab and the door was shut.

 

He was trying to delay the inevitable with his shorter, slower steps up the cobblestone pathway to the front door. Somehow, he feels as though he was walking onto a crime scene. Inside, blood will have stained the tiles and grout, since he doubted anyone would have called for a remodel; with Jack and Alicia hospitalized and his father away on an excavation.

 

The lab would be in worse condition, he thinks, causing his stomach to churn unpleasantly. Pieces of flesh and muscle probably splattered across the floor. Blood smears on the walls from when he stumbled around.

 

Jack’s breath picked up and he sucks in a hard breath, letting it out slowly.

 

_ Just like ripping off a band aid. _ He thinks, throwing open the front door. It bounces against the wall and stops halfway back. Mentally repeating his mantra he steps in like he was a character in a horror movie: slow and hesitant, looking right and left for any sign of a person in the house.

 

Jack closes the door behind him and walks straight to his room. He was right about the smears of blood on the wall, which he pointedly ignored. He bypasses the lab entirely, charging straight into his room. Well, charged as fast as he could with his muscles protesting a quicker motion.

 

Jack pushes the door open with his left hand and Jack stares as Chester, his repurposed Jack-bot, boots up and hovers over to him.

 

“Master Jack!” Chester exclaims. “You’ve missed nearly a month of medication.” Jack stares, Chester allowing their conversation to lull into awkward silence.

 

Jack opens his mouth and shuts it again as his brain slows.

 

“Master Jack?” Chester prompts after what felt like ages.

 

“Right. Don’t worry, the doctor gave me them at the hospital. You’re dismissed.” Jack watches as Chester downloads this information before beeping his affirmative and going back to his dock to rest.

 

Although Jack would love nothing more than to ignore anything and everything that could make his life a living hell, curiosity gnawed at him. Everything about the situation bothered him, and now that he was in an area where the scenes began, he could no longer turn off his brain from rationalizing his situation.

 

His body moved on his own, checking to see if everything from his time with a shrink was the same, except the basement terrain of his lab.

 

Chester was the biggest indicator that what he experienced wasn’t a dream. Although he can’t say for certain he still wasn’t in a dream. Checking Chester’s compartments, a simple taste test with a lick of each tablet proved that two of three were made of sugar, which Jack then came to the conclusion that his mini-pill lab would still be down in his lab in the second drawer at his desk.

 

Jack forewent checking Chester’s videos, already knowing what he would see.

 

Pain tingled up his right arm, a prickling, dulled sensation that indicates the medication they gave him were starting to wear off. Jack takes a breath, massaging his upper arm with his left hand, trying to prolong the need of another pill.

 

His mind told him the most logical thing was to hire some cleaners to get rid of the blood all around the house. But he was just  _ so tired. _

 

Tired of everything bad happening to him, even after supposedly quitting the Heylin side. After assuming a normal enough lifestyle, going to college to get a degree; this shit happens. It was like every cell in his body has given up, weighed down by immense pressure.

 

* * *

 

 

When Jack finally mustered up enough strength to call the cleaners, he was two pills into his pain meds and dopy enough to not feel self-conscious about how he looked like, let alone the crime scenes.

 

Jack stayed in his bed the entire time they cleaned, only allowing himself to get up when the dizzy feeling seceded.

 

The pain was at a minimum, which meant he could go without another dose for a few hours. But with his hand indispose, there wasn’t much activities to do to pass the time. He could barely put his clothes on or off by himself, he could forget trying to tinker with his robots, if he could even pass the threshold to his lab, anyway.

 

Jack sighs deeply as he crawled out of bed and onto unsteady feet, ready for a change of scenery. He takes two steps to the door before a voice stops him.

 

“Well, well. The insect has survived.” Chase drawls like he was bored, leaning casually in all his warlord glory against the wall, arms crossed and face unimpressed. “We should call you a cockroach.” Chase raises a gloved hand like he was checking his nails. “It’s a fitting name for someone of your caliber.”

 

Jack could only stare, mouth half open. It must be the drugs, Jack reasons, making him this numb to Chase’s visit. Or maybe it was the fatigue, or a combination of both that let him blink in disinterest for a few long second before simply turning his attention back to his journey out of his room. Chase growls behind him.

 

“Do not ignore me like you can’t see me, Spicer.”

 

Jack turns back, taking in the narrowed eyes set in a glower, remembering the pitious glimmer the last time he looked into his eyes, begging for help.

 

_ Then _ the feelings started to churn, but they weren’t the typical hero-worship  _ or _ the unadulterated fear from before. It was anger, boiling beneath his skin, frustration seeping from his pores. This was  _ justified. _

 

“How  _ dare _ you..” Jack practically growls, the meds lowering his inhibitions and allowing him to talk back without fear of retribution.  _ “You…” _ Jack tried to find the words in his muddled mind, tries to compile coherent sentences. “I don’t have to pay you jack shit!” Jack finally says, screams really, Chase doesn’t take kindly to that.

 

“I saved you life, you worthless worm.” The warlord hisses, face contorting to agitation.

 

“You didn’t save it, you ruined it!!” Jack yells back. “What kind of evil boy genius mechanic can work without both hands?!” Jack waves his injured hand in the air between them.

 

“I never knew a little burn was all it took to take you down, Spicer.” Chase goads, fixated on the bandaged appendage.

 

_ “Little _ burn?!” Jack stutters, choking on his ire. But, he could almost understand why Chase thought the damage was only skin deep. His fingers and arm were wrapped in so many layers of thick gauze, grafts, and bandages, making it look like a regular hand wrapped in one bandage. “I lost all function in my right hand you dickwad!” Jack screams. If Chase didn’t stay for the whole finale, there was no way he could know the extent of the damage.

 

Chase growled menacingly, snarling, canines peeking under his curled lip, eyes shining bright.

 

If Jack wasn’t so doped up on painkillers, he would have noticed the lack of headaches and pressure on his mind that would usually appear with Chase’s presence. Nor would he have missed the lack of building pain in his frontal lobe he would get when he argues with Chase.

 

“This will only be a fraction of the pain you’ll feel if you keep---” Chase growls, grabbing his hand in a half second and squeezing harshly. Despite the pain medication he was on, Jack screamed at the top of his lungs when the pain accosted him. It cut Chase off and the pitch and intensity of his wail probably startled Chase since he let go, surprise evident for that half second that Jack was standing.

 

As soon as Jack’s hand was released, Jack collapsed to the floor, curling up on his side while he attempts to cradle it without touching it, puffing out short, labored breaths. Jack’s body shook with the new pain, sending wave after nauseous wave crashing through his stomach that he fought desperately against.

 

Jack’s whimpers were lost to his own ears, eyes welling with ongoing tears. It hadn’t been this bad since he had first woken up.

 

Jack didn’t know how long he had laid there, a pathetic heap of pain, too useless to even get his pain pills seven feet away. But when he was able to hear past the blood rushing in his ears, he heard a second voice arguing with Chase.

 

“----terrible! I know you’re supposed to be evil and all but  _ Christ, _ you need some real mental help.” Raimundo argued, now kneeling down by Jack’s collapsed form. “Jack? Hey there. Where’s your medication?”

 

_ At least he’s useful. _ Jack thought, choking on his own breath.

 

With his left hand he pointed, croaking out half of a response and hoping to God Raimundo would figure it out.

 

Raimundo leaves his blurred vision.

 

“You humans are so fragile.” Wuya’s voice flitted through his awareness. “Always thought Jack had more resilience, though.” She conversates like Jack couldn’t hear them. With the way he’s scrunched and unresponsive to their idle chit-chat, he wasn’t surprised they might think that.

 

“Are we all having a party at Jack’s house?” Omi.  _ God, _ Jack groans. Where the hell was Raimundo with his meds?   
  
“Didn’t know you guys cared about the little varmint.” Clay. There was a half second of silence before Wuya scoffed.

 

“I just wanted a front row seat to his death to make sure he  _ did  _ die” Jack could  _ hear  _ Kimiko rolling her eyes.

 

“Right, right.”

 

Jack whimpers as he flexed his right fingers, pain shooting up his entire  _ being. _ He’s sure Chase’s uncaring grab might have broken his bones. Jack wouldn’t be surprised.

 

“Jack? Hey, you gotta sit up.I’ll help you.” Jack protests with a whine as Raimundo, carefully, Jack notes, helped him sit up and lean against the bed frame. Jack was still shook with tremors, breathing ragged. Raimundo fed the tiny white pills to him and helped him sip some water he got from who knows where. “Looks like we need to change the bandages..” Raimundo spoke and Jack opens his eyes, seeing blood seeping through the white cloth.   
  
Kimiko was beside him in an instant. “This is gonna hurt, just bear with it, okay?” Not like Jack could object. This was going to be a bitch with or without the meds.

 

Slowly, and as gentle as she could with her nimble, feminine fingers, she began to unwrap. Jack breathes, trying to control it until wrap after wrap falls away to show the thick gauze, soaked through in blood. At least the good thing was he always seemed to have plenty of blood.

 

Jack sees her grimace at the sight. Everyone was watching him like he was a circus attraction. Jack watched with as much rapt attention as he could muster as Kimiko peeled back layer after soaked layer of gauze, the thickness of the supposed fingers diminishing to the point that Kimiko was blanching. He could only speculate that the others are having the same response as chatter lapsed into silence.

 

“Man, that’s  _ sick…” _ Raimundo mumbles near him once the last painful gauze is pulled away from his graft, sickeningly sticking to them like an extra layer of skin but luckily the grafts did not get pulled off with the last layer and Jack silently thanks the universe.

 

“That’s nastier than seeing Master Fung’s toenails..” Clay mutters somewhere a few feet away.

 

“Still think humans are weak?” Raimundo asks, and Jack realizes it was directed at Wuya.

 

“I’ve never seen someone been snared this badly before..” Chase. The meds kicked in and Jack relaxed a miniscule amount.

 

“What do you mean  _ before? _ Didn’t the wu just blow up after its use?” Raimundo.

 

“It did. However, the wu  _ is _ capable of putting itself back together.” Chase explains and Jack was lost, for multiple reasons. Their voices started to blur, at least in Jack’s mind as Kimiko works as carefully and diligently as she could.

 

_ “So you’ve seen it before and this is worse?” Raimundo. _

 

_ “Yes.” Chase. _

 

_ “He’s been under this since he gave us his wu, I reckon.” Clay. _

 

_ “That’s like, what? Nearly a year already?” Raimundo. _

 

Kimmiko finishes bandaging. Her mouth moves but Jack couldn’t make heads or tail of her words.

 

_ “He is so gone from his body.” Omi. A weird pause. _

 

_ “... I think you mean ‘out of it,’ Omi.” Kimiko. A smack of a hand on a forehead. _

 

_ “...Anyways,” Chase says after another awkward moment. “I’ve seen someone be under the Spectral Dreamer’s influence for decades until he became mad and jumped off a cliff.” _ __   
_   
_ __ “So you’re saying we need to put Jack on suicide watch?” Kimiko.

 

_ “No. When the Ephemeral Veracity was used, the user was injured, but nowhere near this level…” _ Jack felt like they were staring at him even though his eyes were shut and his consciousness was slipping.

 

_ “After both wu were broken, the one under the Spectral Dreamer’s influence went mad because they couldn’t handle the life they made not being there..” Chase. _

 

_ “The twerp is lucky he can still see.” Wuya. “With how much the laurels wrapped around him.” _

 

_ Another silent moment. Now, their voices sound like adults from the Charlie Brown show. _

 

_ “Well, let’s just keep an eye on him. When he’s lucid we’ll explain. Poor dude’s out like a light.” _

 

* * *

 

 

A couple days later Jack gets a call from Dr. Thyson, informing him Alicia was stable enough to transfer to the hospital closer to the house. 

 

Jack was half sure the visit from his imagination was a dream.

 

Except it wasn’t, and he knew it.

 

He doesn’t remember what they talked about, just that what they said was important. Jack had plenty of time to think about it between programing Chester and actually, finally, calling out the clean up crew. The walls repainted, the grout replaced.

 

It smelled sharply of chemicals and paint, and somehow the scent unnerved him more than the sight of blood smeared on walls.

 

The pain was manageable and the haze barely there. Changing clothes was a hassle but he managed some sweats and his giant NASA sweater. He slips on some Toms before his doorbell was wrung.

 

Perturbed, jack cautiously slides to the door and opens it.

 

There, standing semi-awkwardly on his porch, were the Xiaolin Monks.

 

“Heeey, Spicer.” Raimundo took the initiative, ever their chosen leader. “How’s it hanging?” Jack was oddly reminded of the quick conversation he last had with Chase, prior to the accident.

 

“It’s hanging.” Jack responds. Then, a pause. “I’m about to visit my mom. They’ve transferred her to the nearby hospital.” Another pause. “Actually, why don’t you come with me?” He asks, plastering his typical Jack Spicer smile on his face. “I’m sure she’d love the company.”   
  
The monks look surprised, then after a glance to each other, they agree. “Uh, yeah, sure, sounds fun.”   
  
This was going to end in a disaster.

 

* * *

 

 

Most of the monks chose to ride with Dojo, while one daring monk (Omi) decided to ride with Jack in Hermes, his brilliant hovercraft.

 

Sadly, Jack could only drive as crazy as his handicapped hand allowed. Happily enough, though, it still made Omi scream his little cheeseball shaped head off.

 

“I think you may need to relearn how to drive, Jack Spicer.” Omi wobbles out of Hermes, leaning this way and that on his feet.

 

“‘Scuse you. I drive great.” Jack gets out just as Dojo touches down and shrinks. Jack only spares them a glance before stalking into the hospital, leaving them to trail after when Omi’s stomach settled.

 

The nurse didn’t even glance at the extra four people following him, and Jack hoped it was because she wasn’t paid nearly enough to care about how many people are visiting an unstable patient.

 

The monks stayed out as Jack entered.

 

“Mom?” Alicia turns her gaze to him, putting on a smile.

 

_ “Jack,”  _  she says wistfully and he steps to her side, giving a cautious hug.

 

“How’re you feeling?” Alicia blinks slowly, eyes glossy.

 

“How are you?” She parrots. Jack purses his lips.

 

“Good, good. Say, actually.. Some of my friends came to say hi and see how you’re doing.” Jack says, ready to get this over with. 

 

“Friends?” This caught her attention and her brow furrows.

 

Jack calls them in, glancing back at them before his eyes were on Alicia. Her eyes were locked onto them, pupils constricted and jaw tense. Her breathing coming in short bursts.

 

“Um… Mom?”

  
Alicia is quiet for another moment, the monks uncomfortable at the unwelcome response as they shuffled on their feet. Jack was sure he saw the second she broke.

 

Alicia  _ screams. _ It was a screech from hell; piercing, ear-splitting, and hysteric. It was a notch above the scream she gave before he found her. Jack and the monks scramble a foot or two backwards and away from her.

 

_ “I thought you were over this Jackie?!” _ She screams at the top of her lungs, standing up on her cot, ripping off sensors with her frenzied motion.  _ “They aren’t real!” _ Alicia grabs the nearby vase.  _ “STOP CAUSING TROUBLE FOR US!” _ She throws it in their general direction, flying at Jack at remarkable speed, thrown with remarkable strength by a malnourished woman.

 

Jack screams in surprise and was glad someone had pulled him out of the way of the projectile. The vase shatters on the tiles.

 

Alicia keeps screaming. Jack’s ears were pounding too loud for him to hear. She picks up the monitor near her and aims before male nurses hurried in and subdued her, pushing Haloperidol into the IV that stayed suspiciously in his vein.. 

 

Jack doesn’t realize he’s shaking as he’s gently ushered by Raimundo out of the room, eyes glued to the struggling form of his mother, her screaming obscenities tapering off as the sedative takes effect.

 

Raimundo’s body heat bleeds into his side, Raimundo’s arm around his shoulder, rubbing his other arm in an attempt at comfort.

 

“Hey, Jack, hey…” Raimundo’s voice was oddly soothing and the gentlest Jack had ever heard it.

 

Somehow he had been sat down in a chair with a cup of hospital coffee placed in his left hand.

 

Well, Jack thinks, all in all he did suspect  _ something _ like this happening. He did not, however, predict that it was his mother who was subdued. Jack thought it would have been him-- as the monks walked in, Alicia would not see them, and then a nurse would have come by, got reinforcements, and he would have been shipped off to the mental institution.

 

Raimundo was sitting to his left, Kimiko to his right like two loyal dogs ready to protect. Clay and Omi gone with Dojo to do their own thing, he guesses. The two with him seem patient for his answer and subsequent response, if not worried by his lengthening silence.

 

“Hey…” Raimundo starts before another voice ran out in the hall, startling Jack out of his thoughts.

 

“Jack!”  _ Megan. _ She stalks down the hall, worry covered by annoyance and marring her pretty, doll-like features. “So you  _ are _ alive.” She  _ hmphs _ like she was inconvenienced at this predicaments, even having to come check up on him. Megan spares glances at the two Xiaolin warriors by his sides and huffs. “Of course the goodie two-shoes would keep you alive.”   
  
Jack stares, wide eyed. “You… You can see them…?”

 

Megan looks at him oddly, sparing another glance to the monks and seeming to talk with looks alone before looking back at Jack.

 

“You sure that explosion didn’t damage your head?” She asks, just a tad weirded out at his actions and verbiage. Not to mention how he looks--- relatively normal!

 

* * *

 

 

Jack would never be able to get over the beauty of China’s rolling hills. Especially, he thinks, from the mountaintops near the Xiaolin Temple. He breathes in the fresh, crisp air and revels in the slight sting in his lungs.

 

He feels like time could stop, right here, and he could stay in this moment for eternity.

 

No conflict, no wu. Nothing but him and this scene, the dew soaking into his clothes and causing him to shiver.

 

_ “I don’t… I don’t understand.” Jack says over a hot cup of tea, Xiaolin Monks and Chase around the table like they weren’t rivals in a never ending war between good and evil. Jack felt like he was in the middle of an intervention. “This whole  _ past year _ was because of a shen gon wu?” Raimundo nods. “That my  _ mom _ activated? Are you fucking kidding me right now?” _

 

_ Jack felt affronted. _

 

_ “The Spectral Dreamer need not be called for it to work.” Chase explains, but it does little to calm Jack. “In… Normal circumstances, the world that it changes to becomes reality for the targeted individual.” _

 

_ “It seems that…” Raimundo paused as if hesitating on his next words. “Your mom wanted you to get out of the conflict.. And when you remembered us, that world which we were masked in thought you were bonkers..” _

 

_ “But wasn’t it supposed to wipe my memory or something? Why did I remember?” They share a glance, like two parents dealing with a rebellious teen. _

 

_ “It is because of you.” Chase says simply. _

 

_ “Oooohh, no, you do  _ not _ get to point fingers at me.” _

 

_ “What he means to say,” Raimundo glared at Chase for his insensitivity. “Is that your chi is stronger than that of a regular person. Your chi allowed you to see us. And when we intereacted, our chi pushed against the Spectral Dreamer’s magic and caused side effects.” _

 

_ “...The migraines?” Jack’s eyes widened. Raimundo nodded. _

 

_ “And the blackouts. And that time your ears nearly popped.” Raimundo spares a glare at Chase who cooly brushed it off. _

 

_ Jack’s eyes drop to his tea, stupefied. “Holy shit…” He mutters. _

 

_ Chase gives Jack a moment to process before continuing. “This is also the reason why your wounds are so great. The more you came in contact with us, the more the magic worked harder to pull you under, the deeper the ensnarement went.” _ __   
_   
_ __ “Same kinda goes for your mom. The Spectral Dreamer spread deeper into her skull the more magic it needed to use.” Raimundo tacks on.

 

_ Jack listens, barely. His thoughts, previously going a mile a minute, have stilled. Blinking languidly, he wonders if he was already dead and this was just the pre-afterlife with angels that posed as people he knew to pass judgement on him. _

 

_ Hell. Probably Hell. Jack’s mind helpfully replays a few deeds that would warrant a place there and he graciously accepts. _

 

_ “He’s taking this a lot better than I thought..” Raimundo mutters after a handful of moments when no freak outs occured. _

 

_ “That is because you underestimate his mental tenacity, Monk.” Chase says, the beginnings of pride in his voice like Chase was proud Jack was on the Heylin side. Had Jack been there mentally, and had it been before all of this happened, he would have jumped over the moon in happiness. _

 

_ As is it, he is neither. The silence drags on for another moment before Jack stands, downs the rest of his chilled tea, and mutters, “I need to think,” before he leaves them all worried and confused at the table. _

 

Yeah, wouldn’t it be great if nothing existed?

 

Jack had been on this mountainside for hours, since the morning. He’d nabbed the Golden Tiger Claws from the vault and hopped on over here. Now they lay prone, dropped carelessly behind him.

 

It could have been that they were really giving Jack space to think (or in his case,  _ not _ think), or they really couldn’t find him with whatever Xiaolin powers they had.

 

_ “There _ you are. Jeez, we’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Raimundo’s voice came from behind. Jack, resting back on his good arm while his right was in his lap, turned to look. Raimundo looked a bit exasperated while Chase looked bored. Jack could totally see Chase refusing to help find him to annoy the monks. “Think everything over yet?”   
  
Jack looked back to the scenery, the sun inching towards to horizon. “No, not really.” He shrugs. “What’s there to think about? What can I do with a gimpy arm?” Jack raises and gently waves said gimpy arm.

 

_ “Well, one gimpy arm is better than  _ two _ gimpy arms.” _ Raimundo says behind him, and by the undignified “what?” he guessed Chase was glaring at him for his crass. Looks like neither of them knew how to handle a delicate situation. But Jack didn’t pay attention to it.

 

“You know what I don’t get though?” Jack asks, turning whole body to face them. The two look at him expectantly. “You guys don’t even like me, why even go through all this trouble just to get me out of the Spectral Dreamer’s influence?” Jack watches them. “I get why you came for that hummingbird wu thing or whatever. But after that, what gives? I really doubt anyone of you had a change of heart and actually missed my presence.”

 

Raimundo was looking at Chase expectantly, like it was his turn to explain, while the warlord closed his eyes and gave a slow sigh, like needing to explain this was as tiresome as doing menial labor when you’re rich enough to pay someone else to do it for you.

 

“It was a matter of self interest.” Chase said, and after a moment of silence where Jack narrowed his eyes, Chase hardened his look and spoke again. “It seems that you are worth a lot more to the conflict than any of us thought prior. You should be happy.” But Jack was not. Jack stood up to face them properly.

 

“What does that even  _  mean?” _ Jack asked, frustrated.

 

_ “It means,” _ Raimundo cut in. “That you actually belong to the conflict.” At Jack’s uncertain, stupefied expression he continues.  _ “You _ influence the showdowns, Spicer. We can’t really explain how or why but strange things have been happening since you left.”   
  
“So, you’re saying… I, what? Control the sun and moon in our world or something?” His imagination is more wild than he thought.

 

“Metaphorically, so to speak.” Chase said offhandedly, like he was unhappy at the truth of it. Jack thought someone with a camera would pop out anytime and yell  _ got you! _ But seconds later, no one did.

 

“Whatever side of the conflict you choose, both need you alive and in the game.” Raimundo saids, starting to grin. “What are you gonna do?”   
  
Jack’s eyes widen.

 

_ It was he was peeking into the future. His body thrummed with energy. _

 

_ Jack grinned as a highly advanced prosthetic was attached to a newly amputated forearm. The wired moves on their own, reconnecting tendons and muscles in a way Jack knew was impossible for today’s time, yet Jack looked no older than he did now. _

 

_ Jack had seen himself fighting for the Heylin side, much more effectively than before. Jack has seen himself fighting for the side of good. He saw himself in a position of influence. He saw himself doing many things. _

 

It was like all channels to the future had been lifted.

 

Jack looks to the two who seemed to be waiting for an answer, and he turned to look at the setting sun, unaware of the flickering, silver lights in his eyes shining like glitches.

 

Jack could feel energy at his fingertips, as more scenes flickered behind his eyes.

 

Unimaginable power.

 

Jack knew what to do.

* * *

 

_ End _


End file.
